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POEMS 


NEW:  YORK  : 

D.   AJPPLETCfN   &  COMPANY, 
'346  &  348  BROADWAY. 
1859. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1S69,  by 
D.  APPLETON  &  CO., 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the  Southern 
District  of  New  York. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 
JOT  .  .  .  .  .  .6 

THE   CKYBA   AND   THE   YAGUEY                         ...  9 

A   LAST   DREAM                        .                       .                       .                       .  .16 

FIVE   SONNETS    RELATING   TO   BEAUTY          .                       .                       :  22 

HYMN   TO   THE    SEA    '                                   .                       .                       .  .2*7 

K.    F.  .  .  .  .  .37 

TWO   STANZAS                           .                       .                       .                       .  .38 

TASSO        .                         .....  39 

THE    PROSPECT                        .                       .                       .                       .  .44 

THE    BRIDGE    OF   THE    DRAGON                           ...  49 

EVENING              .                       .                       .                       .                       .  .62 

BERTHA      ......  65 

SUSANNA               .                       .                       .                       .                       .  .68 

THE   SIIAH      .  .  .  .  .76 

REASONABLENESS                    .                       .                       .                       .  .77 

LINES — LOUD   HEART,    ETC.          .                       .                       .                       .  '              78 

LINES — ALL'S   TO    GAIN      .                       .                       .                      .  .79 

THE   CENCl's   DREAM                         ....  80 


2233315 


4  CONTENTS. 

• 

PAGE 
APPLEDORE         .  .  .  .  .  .88 

UNDINE*    ......  90 

HALF    AWAKE  .  .  .  .  .94 

THE  WAY   APPOINTED  ....  90 

KRISTEL'S  SOLILOQUY       .  .  .  .  .     10o 

TWENTY-SECOND    OP    FEBRUARY  .  .  .  10C> 

CAMILLE  .  .  .  .  .  .110 

ARIADNE  .  .  .  .  .  11C> 

SIESTA  .  .  .  .  .  .       ll'.< 

THE    CRICKET    TO    OCTOBER  ....  12^ 

LINES  ......       12C) 

TEMUR         ......  128 

THE   WILD    PLUM    TREE       .  .  .  .  .131 

RAPHAEL    MENGS    AND    HIS    "HOLY   FAMILY"  .  .  138 

SEASIDE  ......       135 

THE    GRATE-DIGGER  .     '  .  .  .  137 

EPITAPH  .  .  .  .  .  .13',' 

MEMORY     .  .  .  .  .  .141 

DOMINIQUE         ......       145 

SONNETS NIGHT  ....  147 

THE    FUGITIVE-SLAVE-BILL  .  .  .  .       1G'_! 

FACTS    IN    TERSE          .  .  .  .  .107 

SONNETS  ......       184 

CONTINENCE         .  .  .  .  .184 

TO    THE    SPIRIT.       (BY    A    PRODIGAL'S    FAVORITE.)        .  .       185 

TO    THE    SAME.       (BY    A   MISER'S   PENSIONER.)       .  .  18C> 

c.  L'E.      .  .  .  .  .  .187 

THE    SAME  .....  188 

M.  ......     18!) 

THE    SAME  .....  190 

THE   PASSION   FLOWER  191 


.  ERRATA. 

Page  21  —  For  gleam,  read  gloom. 

Page  21  —  The  following  note  to  he  appended  to  the  poem  : 

"Dr.  Kane,  after  suffering  incredible  hardships  in  his  last  visit  to 
the  Polar  Circle,  returned  in  broken  health,  and  went  to  Cuba,  where 
he  died." 

Page  35  —  Read  "  signs  "  at  the  end  of  the  second  verse. 
Page  149  —  Put  "  like''  before  ghosts. 


JOY. 

GRAY  strength  of  years  ! 

Whereon  so  many  a  bark  is  wrecked  ; 

And  even  success 

Falls  blank  and  passionless  ; 

This  morn  has  decked 

Your  front  with  trailing  loveliness, 

And  branching  lights  ; 

Inlets  of  summer  from  celestial  heights. 

Dimpling  with  light,  beneath  the  long  arcades, 
The  shadows  smile  in  sleep  : 
And  all  those  forces  manifold  that  keep 
Such  infantine,  calm  play, 


JOY. 

Before  the  awful  hand 

That  makes  and  breaks, 

Sing  and  are  jubilant  to-day. 

Sing  on,  all  up  and  down  the  shining  land  ! 

My  heart  your  meaning  takes. 

As  evening's  star  on  star, 

Through  the  blue  portals  of  the  air, 

What  countless  creatures  throng  ! 

And  beautiful  they  are — 

With  morning  in  their  eyes  and  in  their  hair  ; 

And  on  their  lips  an  antique  speech  and  song. 

One  shadow  only  waits 

Aloof,  poised  on  ascending  wing, 

And  lifts  no  voice  ;  but  in  her  throat, 

I  ween  there  is  a  sweeter  note 

Than  all  these  glorious  warblers  bring. 

I  hear  her  chant  an  inward  strain  ; 

"  Thou  sett'st  me  above  Time's  annoy  : 


JOY.  7 

I  found  delight  and  it  was  pain  ; 

Thou  gavest  pain,  and  it  is  joy. 

Token  of  unaccomplished  growth, 

Stern  pledge  of  immortality  ; 

Through  all  the  earth's  perplexed  domain, 

Just  Grod  !  I  would  that  there  should  be 

No  living  thing  that  should  not  suffer  PAIN." 

Thus  in  a  ravishment 

Of  inward  sight,  her  song  wells  up, 

A  passionate  content. 

Scatter  the  road, 

The  beaten  highway  of  the  world,  my  heart, 

With  rose  and  asphodel, 

And  all  thou  draw'st  from  music's  throbbing  well ; 

Behold  how  rich  thou  art  ! 

Thou  drink'st  of  every  spring  of  God  ; 

Broad  heaven  but  lightly  freights  thine  eye, 

And  thy  familiar  pulse  is  rife 

With  tumult  of  the  river  of  life, 


JOY. 

That  makes  the  circuit  of  the  youngest  sky. 

What  thrill  that  spirits  feel, 

Transport  of  love,  or  ecstasy 

Of  still,  creative  force, 

That  life  shall  not  at  last  to  thee  reveal  ? 

0  make  no  barren  haste — 

Thou  livest  from  day  to  day  with  God  so  near  ! 

And  well  may'st  brook   • 

Into  those  phantom-eyes  to  look 

That  freeze  in  these  half-lights  our  atmosphere  : — 

Seeing  that  thou  art  based 

On  the  immortal  Joy — whose  spreading  bloom 

Hath  root  of  substance  so  divine, 

That  the  perennial  heavens  which  by  it  shine, 

And  spring's  sure  birth,  live  only  to  express 

Its  strength  and  everlastingness. 


THE  CEYBA  AND  THE  YAGUEY. 

KNOW  you  the  land  ? 

With  its  cestus  of  summer  waves,  and  its  ocean 
Of  young,  soft  air,  with  a  vernal  motion 
All  through  its  golden  tides  ?  which  caresses 
And  busies  itself  about  you,  and  blesses 
All  that  it  bathes  with  life  ineffable, 
A  breathing  of  infinite  love,  as  well 
As  of  courage  and  youth  ?     That  joy  of  the  sun 
Where  heaven  in  all  its  beauty  is  won 
To  the  arms  of  the  new-made  earth — do  you  know  it  ? 
That  land  of  hope — that  land  of  the  poet  ? 

There  in  that  isle,  as  you  shall  hear, 

The  Ceyba  grows — of  godlike  cheer ; 
1* 


10         THE  CEYBA  AND  THE  YAGUEY. 

A  sad  and  singular  history 
Is  that  of  the  beautiful  Ceyba-tree, 
And  what  I  recount  of  one  alone, 
Is  true  of  a  thousand  as  of  one. 

Grand  and  alone  the  giant  stood, 

The  Ceyba-tree  of  royal  mood. 

It  stood  so  great  that  the  careless  Montero 

Of  the  sunny  Partido  de  Sumidero, 

Cheering  his  mules  with  song  and  whistle, 

Winding  about  those  mountains  that  bristle 

With  cactus  outre,  and  pine,  and  yucca, 

And  soften  as  well  with  twining  bejuca, 

And  the  delicate  weft  of  the  tamarind 

Afloat  on  the  sunny  tropic  wind, 

Seeing  afar  in  the  freshening  skies, 

This  beacon  of  silent  centuries, 

Touched  his  cap  in  the  way  of  his  nation, 

Making  his  morning  salutation. 

The  giant,  I  said,  of  royal  heart, 


THE  CEYBA  ANN  THE  YAGUEY.        11 

Kept  with  his  sky  and  his  earth  apart. 
Truly,  it  mattered  not  if  beneath 
The  laurel  upwaffced  proud,  full  breath, 
And  the  spiked  aloe's  wondrous  bloom 
Enriched  the  warm,  deep  under  gloom, — 
Far  and  forgetful  the  whispering  Jove 
Swayed  in  the  mighty  Joy  above  ! 
The  cedar  dwarfed  in  his  ancient  face, 
The  queenly  Palms,  from  their  azure  dais, 
Looked  upward  unto  the  Ceyba-tree  ; 
Chestnut  and  mango  dreamily 
Heaved  their  soft  billows  in  mid  air, 
The  cypress  companioned  with  them  there, 
But  over  them,  an  under  sky 
Of  shifting  emerald,  airily 
The  Ceyba's  coronal  tossed  and  swung. 

Proud  songs  the  lofty  minstrel  sung  ! 
Awful  it  was  when  the  southern  blast 
From  the  sea,  drove  inland  gray  and  fast, 


12        THE  CEYBA  AND  THE  YAGUEY. 

And  heavy  with  its  terrible  rain 
From  the  chaos  of  the  heavens  and  main, 
(After  the  weary,  weary  drouth, 
The  gush  of  the  burning-hearted  south  !) 
To  hear  the  inspired  monarch  Tree 
Eoar  its  giant  hymn  of  Liberty  : 
As  if  it  saw  red  morn  beneath 
The  dim  horizon's  misty  wreath, 
Coming  the  dank  old  gloom  to  fuse, 
And  dripping  with  its  crimson  dews, 
And  to  the  world  sang  o'er  and  o'er 
"  Her  fiery  drops  earth  counts  no  more  ! 
The  hearts  you  shut  from  hope  and  light, 
And  Beauty  and  the  Infinite, 
Into  the  air,  into  the  day, 
Will  burst  their  wild,  indignant  way  ! " 
Then  in  the  calm,  the  light,  the  glory, 
Most  tender  was  its  rhymed  story  ; 
When  distant  and  faint  the  unweary  sea 
Boiled  landward  its  vast  harmony, 


THE  CEYBA  AND  THE  YAGUEY.         13 

And  the  Ceyba  listened  by  stars  and  moon, 
And  softly  answered  it  rune  for  rune. 

But  alas  for  the  stately  Tree  !  indeed 

Alas  for  it  !  a  little  seed 

Bedded  itself  in  the  cloven  bark, 

Nor  did  the  generous  Ceyba  mark 

What  life  it  gave,  what  strength  went  forth 

Into  the  thing  of  little  worth  ! 

Soon  under  the  leaves  might  you  espy, 

Gliding  and  creeping  silently 

Forward  from  its  buried  root, 

A  wavering,  young  and  snakelike  shoot, 

That  little  by  little,  day  after  day, 

Twists  and  winds  its  quiet  way, 

'Mid  shrinking  leaves  and  buds  that  pine, — 

And  so,  with  many  a  hideous  twine 

Bound  tender  twig,  and  bough,  and  branch, 

Till  one  by  one  they  bare  and  blanch, 


14        THE  CEYBA  AND  THE  YAGUEY. 

While  downward  it  drops  an  hundred  feet, 

And  as  many  arms  coil  up  and  meet 

And  clasp  the  giant,  neck  and  limb, 

And  strain  him  in  their  embrace  with  grim 

And  deadly  love  ;  and  here  and  there 

Under  the  sick'ning  foliage,  peer 

Keen  heads  like  serpents'  heads,  intent, 

And  new,  strange  hues  flop  insolent 

From  bough  to  bough,  till  one  might  see 

How  ill  it  fared  with  the  noble  tree  ! 

How,  breathless  and  with  eager  strain, 

Out  of  its  falling  mantle,  in  vain 

It  lifted  its  hundred  wasted  hands 

To  the  sun  and  the  winds,  and  the  journeying  bands 

Of  sky-immortals  ;  las  !  the  dead  moon  shone 

On  the  peering  serpents'  heads  alone, 

Or  flecked  it  with  many  a  ghastly  fleck — 

The  sun  glared  in  on  the  spectral  wreck 

Unmindful,  and  fierce,  and  wonderingly  : 

And  then  the  life-blood  drearily 


THE   CEYBA   AND   THE   YAGUEY.  15 

Curdled  within  its  veins  and  stopt  ; 
While  over  it  the  Yaguey  dropt 
Its  mocking  wreaths  of  gaudy  hue, 
Flaunting  triumphant  in  the  blue, 
Sweet  breath  of  heaven,  and  all  was  done  ; 
And  so  of  a  thousand  as  of  one. 


A  LAST  DKEAM. 

THREE  against  one  !     Three  giants  it  was  plain — 

While  I  might  scarcely  dot  our  battle  ground, 

Which  glimmered  east  and  west,  and  north  and  south, 

Farther  than  eye  might  see.     But  all  the  while, 

For  I  was  sinewed  by  our  God  himself, 

I  knew  that  I  should  conquer.     And  I  quailed 

No  jot,  who  shudder  now,  even  but  to  think 

What  secret,  deadly  and  remorseless  ways 

They  took  to  break  me.     For  one  covered  o'er 

With  his  vast  hand,  heaven's  gracious  breadth  of  light, 

That  terror-stricken  in  the  ghastly  fields, 

My  heart  might  burst  and  die.     One  slowly  sucked 

The  life  blood  at  its  fount  ;  and  from  my  brain 


A   LAST   DREAM.  17 

The  healthy  vigor  went,  and  in  its  place 

There  was  a  motley  whirl  of  fantasies, 

A  dreadful  dance  of  wicked  things,  that  struck 

Strange  gleams  and  painful  lightnings  through  my  lids 

Which  still  I  saw  upon  the  midnight  snow, 

Mingling  with  pure  auroras  from  the  bergs, 

And  meteors'  silver  flashes.     And  one — one 

Loaded  these  limbs  with  dull,  invisible  chains, 

So  subtilly  imposed,  so  stern  and  still, 

It  seemed  to  lull  the  will  into  accord, 

And  hoodwink  all  my  soul  with  trust.     But  no  ! 

I  rose,  I  strove  with  triple  giant  strength, 

And  heaved,  as  earthquakes  mountains  from  their 

shoulders, 

The  settling  weights  away,  and  heard  them  slide 
Into  that  night  of  sound,  that  northward  far, 
Where  the  white  se'a-gull  flies,  for  leagues  on  leagues, 
Wraps  in  its  shadowy  arms  the  gleaming  coast. 
Loathing  and  shuddering,  at  length  I  drew 
The  clinging  fury  from  my  heart — and  lo  ! 


18  A  LAST   DREAM. 

Not  overhead,  I  think,  nor  from  the  east, 

Where  the  sun  has  its  solemn,  annual  birth, 

Nor  glazing  the  waste  whiteness,  nor  unsheathing 

The  glaciers'  keen  swords, — but  fine  and  still, 

And  as  it  seemed,  dilating  from  a  seed 

Of  light  within, — light  peaceful,  broad  and  soft, 

Grew  round  me  where  I  stood.    And  Grod,  who  watched 

The  battle  from  his  trembling  depths  of  Night, 

In  sign  and  seal  of  this  my  victory. 

Sends  his  calm  angel  here,  who  folds  an  arm 

About  and  leads  me  safe,  I  ask  not  where, 

For  heart  and  life  are  pillowed  on  his  love. 

Will  any  say,  I  yielded, — drawing  near 
Those  lists  of  high  renown,  where  the  gaunt  Three 
And  I  fought  the  dumb  battle  out,  and  left 
No  trace  in  the  blown,  desert  fields  ? — Nay,  far 
Beyond  the  last  low  wall  of  crimson  light, 
That  struggles  to  hedge  off  with  baby  gleam, 
The  insurging  Dark, — where  sits  the  sceptred  cold 


A   LAST   DREAM.  19 

Impassible  and  still,  and  the  awed  sea 

Groans  only  and  upheaves  in  marble  waves, 

When  the  black  sleet-wind  whispers,  Mutiny  ! 

There  is  a  shaft,  as  all  the  world  may  know, 

A  monument  of  ice  uptowering  dim 

Into  the  heavens'  crowned  mystery — whereon 

Are  graven  with  touches  of  the  light,  a  name, 

And  following  that,  a  chronicle  of  deeds. 

And  when  the  brief,  high  history  makes  end, 

The  page  of  ice  goes  on — "  And  one  day,  Earth, 

Gray  mother,  bound  with  frost  and  torn  with  fire, 

Shall  surely  be  redeemed  by  hero  dust. 

Each  sluggish  atom  of  her  sphere,  shall  bloom 

Nobly  in  human  shape,  and  take  the  print, 

And  do  the  mandate  of  a  godlike  will, 

Until  her  apotheosis  be  won. 

Dear  then  to  her  and  to  the  silent  Powers, 

And  borne  on  their  strong  wings  above  defeat, 

And  fear  of  mockery,  all  they  who  build 

In  stern  emprise  a  shrine  for  the  Unseen  ; 


20  A   LAST   DREAM. 

Making  life  poor  to  show  how  rich  it  is. 

Kound  them  heaven's  flaming  currents  stoop  and  play, 

And  lap  the  stifling  vapors  of  the  world, 

Till  the  space  freshens  into  festal  depths  ; 

And  Soul,  before  a  royal  mendicant, 

Pensioned  of  flesh  along  her  dusky  way, 

Goes  forth  with  bounty  to  exultant  crowds, 

With  pulse  of  musiq  ordering  the  winds, 

And  trumpets  blowing  the  eternal  morn. 

And  so  to  guard  from  loss  and  blight  of  Time 

The  memory  of  such  faith,  and  of  a  will 

That  thrilled  our  adamant  from  coast  to  coast, 

This  pale  resplendent  pillar  of  the  frost 

Scores  the  dark,  grasping  air.     But  he  who  held 

Within  his  eyes,  the  sacred  fire  that  pierced 

Our  ancient  mysteries,  and  laid  them  bare 

Behind  their  five-fold  barriers,  afar 

Wins  smiles  from  other  heavens,  and  breathes  the  meed 

Of  mighty  toils — the  insatiate  sweet  of  rest." 


A  LAST    DEE  AM.  21 

• 

Be  it  then — rest.     All  round  the  scented  coast 

Flashes  the  living  sea  ;  and  on  my  brow 

I  feel  the  silken  touches  of  strange  winds  ; 

While  overhead  such  light,  and  sumptuous  blue, 

And  rustle  of  great  plumes  !     Still  thought  toils  on 

In  memory  : — and  over  me  those  words 

That  kindle  the  wild  gleam  around,  throb  out :       4£r~isr*^ 

And  still  I  hear  an  under  voice  which  says, 

That  what  we  do  is  better  than  ourselves, 

Being  held  unto  the  service  of  His  will 

By  the  strong  hand  that  fashioned  us.     Even  so. 

But  by  that  stair  I  climb  to  God  at  last, 

Trampling  on  ease  and  low  usurping  wants  ; 

And  through  innumerable  spheres  upreaching, 

And  Nights  and  Days  till  I  am  lost  in  Him. 


FIVE  SONNETS  KELATING  TO  BEAUTY. 

i. 

I  DREAMED  an  angel,  Angel  twice,  through  death, 

Wrought  us  another  "  Night."     A  stately  dream, 

Where  reconciling  Infinites  did  seem 

To  fold  round  life's  perplexities,  and  wreath 

Its  ancient  glooms  with  stars  : — a  marble  breath 

From  Art's  serene,  fresh,  everlasting  morn, 

Where  the  dull  worm  of  earthly  pain  is  born 

To  winged  life  thenceforth,  and  busieth 

With  golden  messages  its  mortal  hours. 

0  the  Divine,  earth  would  have  wronged  and  slain  ! 

Its  pangs  are  rays  above  her  falling  towers 

Of  lovelier  truth — breaths  of  a  sweet  disdain 

Shedding  strange  nothingness  on  meaner  pain, 

Drops  of  the  bleeding  god  that  turn  to  flowers.  • 


FIVE   SONNETS   RELATING   TO   BEAUTY.  23 


IL 

Largess  from  seven-fold  heavens,  I  pray,  descend 
On  all  who  toil  for  Beauty  !     Never  feet 
Grow  weary  that  have  done  her  bidding  sweet 
About  the  careless  world  !     For  she  is  friend 
And  darling  of  the  universe  ; — and  day  by  day, 
She  comes  and  goes,  but  never  dies, 
So  precious  is  she  in  the  eternal  eyes. 
0  dost  thou  scorn  her,  seeing  what  fine  way 
She  doth  avenge  ?     For  heaven,  because  of  her, 
Shall  pne  day  find  thee  fitter.     How  old  hours' 
Of  star-rapt  night  about  thy  heart  had  curled — 
And  thou  hadst  felt  the  morning's  golden  stir, 
And  the  appealing  loveliness  of  flowers, 
Yea,  all  the  saving  beauty  of  the  world  ! 


24  FIVE   SONNETS    RELATING   TO    BEAUTY. 


III. 

0  fair  mistrust  of  earth's  more  solid  shows  ! 

And  mute  appeal  from  its  inhuman  ways, 

Its  iron  judgments  and  its  misspent  praise, 

To  the  appreciation  sweet  that  glows 

Tn  heaven's  old  smiling  eye  !     0  slowly  grows 

Our  human  thought  ;  and  freedom  long  delays, 

Love  in  the  shade  fulfilling  weary  days, 

Ere  her  great  child  is  born  !     No  wasting  throes 

Foretell  thy  being  to  the  universe  ! 

It  is  as  thou  didst  lurk  on  half-poised  wings 

Below  our  life,  blessing,  and  care  and  curse, 

Even  at  the  very  root  and  core  of  things  : 

And  couldst  not  keep  from  start,  and  chirp,  and  flight, 

And  warbled  hint  of  something  back  of  sight. 


FIVE   SONNETS   RELATING   TO   BEAUTY.  25 


IV. 

No  slight  caprice  rules  thee. — Who  sounds  one  note 
In  God's  high  order  finds  thee  at  his  side. 
Thou  art  twin-born  with  joy,  and  dost  abide 
With  conscience  old,  and  blood-deep  art  inwrought 
With  love's  sweet  mystery.     No  wanton  thought 
Shall  wrong  the  world  that  holds  thee,  or  the  wide 
Deep  Ordering,  whereof  thou  art  the  bride. 
For  neither  hate,  nor  custom's  stress,  nor  aught 
Of  evil  can  thee  harm,  divinest  thing  ; 
And  through  these  folds  of  sense,  thou  openest 
Blue  rifts  to  Freedom  and  unfathomed  rest. 
Flower  of  a  hidden  life,  sweet  mystic  spring, 
What  joy  must  tune  thy  flow,  and  calm  divine  ! 
What  soundness  at  the  heart  from  east  to  west ! 


26  FIVE    SONNETS    RELATING    TO    BEAUTY. 


V. 

And  for  that  thou  art  Beauty,  and  thy  name 
Transcends  all  praise  of  thee,  and  doth  but  leave 
Thyself  for  thy  true  rendering,  I  grieve 
O'er  idle  words.     0  never  dost  thou  blame, 
But  seekest  to  inspire  me  all  the  same, 
With  thine  immortal  freshness  !     Through  the  night 
The  moon  comes  large  and  slow,  winging  with  light 
The  joyous  sea  ;  while  sunset's  last  red  flame, 
Baring  the  heavens  for  glories  to  succeed, 
Goes  softly  out,  with  endless  farewell  gleams, 
Ebbing  along  the  yellow  marge  of  day  ; 
Glides  slow,  with  backward  gaze  ;  sadly  indeed, 
And  slow,  as  from  the  heart  which  new  love  claims 
An  older  memory  doth  steal  away. 


HYMN   TO    THE   SEA. 

ALONG  yon  soft  tumultuousness,  the  Dawn 
Keaches  a  glowing  hand,  and  the  mute  world 
Thrills  back  to  life.    This  lustrous  blossom,  curled 
In  on  its  dreaming  heart,,  feels  the  forlorn 
Old  Shadow  lift,  and  guardedly  discloses 
Its  wayside  cheer  ;  and  endless  waves  away 
Bide  the  slow  triumph  of  the  Light, 
Kejoicing  in  the  infinite 
And  quenchless  possibility  of  Day  ; 
Day, — that  at  least  shall  win  far  more  than  darkness 
loses. 

Over  those  morning  waves,  or  when  the  bare 
Stars  glow,  or  Moon  her  tireless  lover  nears, 


28  HYMN    TO   THE   SEA. 

The  eternal  Beauty  that  these  countless  years 
Makes  earthly  musings  so  divinely  fair, 
Broods  listening  to  the  prophecy  thou  chantest — 
The  subtle  breath  of  mortal  sympathies 
Is  she,  wooing  us  unto  right 
In  unsuspected  ways  ;  a  light 
From  inmost  heaven  tempered  to  dreaming  eyes, 
A  sweet  foreshadow  of  the  joy  for  which  thou  pantest. 

Koll  in  from  far  thy  deep  broad-skirted  thunder, 
Whereon  the  wild  winds  fawn!    Thy  voice  by 

day— 

But  Night  adopts  and  trances  it  away 
Into  its  clear,  sad  universe  of  wonder. 
0  weary  of  life's  lavish,  shallow  sound, 
Enrich  me  beyond  hunger  with  that  tone  ! 
Tell  in  what  deep,  gray  solitude, 
It  may  be  born,  what  caverns  rude 
Still  haunt  it ;  and  if  the  infinite  ALONE 
Touch  it  himself  with  calm  and  utterance  so  profound. 


HYMN   TO   THE   SEA.  29 

Hark'ning  through  all  the  music  of  her  leaves 
And  inland  murmurs,  o'er  the  seaward  steep, 
The  stately  Summer  leans,  while  dim  winds  sweep 
Her  shining  tresses  back — and  half  she  grieves 
That  thou  disdain'st  with  thy  hoar  wreaths,  to  twine 
Her  fleeting  gifts. — Yet  hast  thou  tender  fancies  ; 
Breedings  of  love  when  young  winds  cease, 
And  silence  deepens  into  peace  ; 
And  leadest  with  Day  and  Night  immortal  dances, 
Crowned  with  fresh  marriage-blooms  and  lotus-cups 
divine. 

Upon  the  broad,  gray,  gleaming  beach  I  saw, 
Last  night,  that  phantom-light  of  thy  desire, 
Orb  large  and  slow  in  the  East,  dropping  pale  fire 
Along  thy  deep'ning  tumult,  so  to  draw 
Old  love-dreams  out  : — for  countless  leagues  she 

had  come 

O'er  kindred  foam  ;  her  footfalls  echoing  yet 
In  the  deep  breast  of  Aral — through 


30  HYMN    TO    THE    SEA. 

Caspian  and  Euxine,  and  the  blue 
Of  that  famed  gulf  in  earth's  broad  girdle  set, 
With  endless  voice  of  waves  calling  to  shores  long 
dumb. 

With  all  her  loveliness  earth  leaves  me  sad, 
And  sadder  for  her  loveliness.     My  hills 
Are  sacred  chalices  which  eve  o'erfills 
With  vintage  for  young  gods  ;  and  deeply  glad 
In  the  sweet  clasp  of  vernal  boughs,  the  air 
At  night-fall  swoons  ; — but  hauntings  unexplained 
Steal  in  ;  earth  looks  half  wild  and  lone, 
And  from  her  eyes  I  veil  my  own, 
And  lay  my  heart  to  hers — the  unattained, 
Youth's   aching  world  of  incompleteness   throbbing 
there. 

But  thou,  shout  on  through  heaven's  soft,  circling 

spheres, 
Still  promising  with  that  great  voice  of  power 


HYMN   TO   THE   SEA.  31 

A  joy  to  every  heart,  a  day,  an  hour 
To  come,  outweighing  all  these  silent  years  ! 
Afar  thou  veil'st  thy  kingliness  in  mist, 
And  stretchest  in  the  heaven's  most  deep  embrace, 
Like  the  great  Future,  waste  and  gray, 
Dissolving  day  to  yesterday — 
But  what  fair  shores  thou  lapp'st  in  azure  peace  ! — 
What  isles  of   joyous    palms  with    tropic    starlight 
kissed  ! 

I  am  borne  outward  by  this  fragrant  breeze, 
That  seems  to  press  its  warm  lips  to  the  sand, 
And  then  away,  beyond  the  singing  land, 
To  that  hoar  silence  of  the  lone  mid  seas, 
Where  thou,  in  unrelated  strength,  a  bare 
Vast  heart,  throbbest  beneath  the  eternal  eye  : — 
Life  soars  like  an  enfranchised  flame  ; 
The  needy  doubt,  the  hope,  that  came 
Before  the  laggard  dawn  to  wake  me,  fly, 
And  dim  Eternity  flows  in  like  silent  air. 


32  HYMN   TO   THE   SEA. 

Do  tempests  swing  thee,  or  deep,  choral  nights 
Chant  unto  murmurous  slumber,  yield  me  still 
The  calm  of  hushed  abysses  ! — human  ill 
Patience  transfigures  on  her  visioned  heights. 
Thou  dost  not  rive  the  blood-drenched  deck  apart, 
Nor  whelm  the  slaver's  freight  of  woes,  but  soft 
On  patient,  swelling  breast  upborne, 
Waftest  the  dismal  burthen  on, 
As  trusting  in  the  love  that  waits  aloft, 
And  the  slow  germ  of  good  in  man's  unquiet  heart. 

Ah,  meagre  happiness,  and  hopes  that  reach 
To  some  dull  dream,  a  vapor  of  the  sense, 
And  on  the  plain  of  the  old  Permanence 
Are  but  as  hasty  flashes  in  the  beach 
Of  idle  footprints  !     0  make  more  divine 
Glad  Sea,  our  thoughts — nor  may  we  dully  grope 
'Mid  slavish  fears,  while  thou  dost  girth 
The  continents  and  isles  with  mirth, 
And  music  of  unconquerable  hope 


HYMN   TO   THE   SEA.  33 

That  Joy  and  Beauty  shall  be  earth's  as  they  are 
thine  ! 

0  old  consoler,  that  dost  tenderly 
In  thy  great  longing  merge  my  day-born  pain, 
Uplift  me  to  the  stature  of  your  strain, 
And  bid  all  lower  aspiration  flee  ! 
The  nobler  earth  is  built  of  stubborn  good — 
Who  brings  his  little  vanity,  his  grave 

Appeal  to  men's  applause  and  wonder, 
Warn  him  away  with  thy  hoarse  thunder, 
Flash  o'er  the  graven  sands  a  liberal  wave, 
And  let  us  know  no  more  name,  memory,  or  blood  ! 

And  call  the  regal  shadows,  'mid  the  roar 

Of  charging  waves,  the  tumult  and  the  smoke,— 
That  fine  old  Grecian  in  his  threadbare  cloak  ; 
The  banner  pastor  by  blue  Zurich,  o'er 
Whose  vine-clad  summits  Alps  looked  not  in  vain  ; 

England's  blind  seer ;  Toussaint,  the  kingly  heart 

2* 


34  HYMN    TO   THE    SEA. 

Wearing  his  thrice-earned  martyr  csown  ; 
And  all  who  silently  let  down 
The  rugged  slopes  whereon  we  toss  apart 
Some  herald-beam  of  the  All-Fair,  some  love-bought 
pain. 

Yet  milder  beams  wooing  the  folded  sight, 

Shed  warmth  far  down  in  many  a  sunless  nook  : 
Thank  God,  there  are  no  eyes  in  which  we  look 
But  some  heart's  love  doth  lend  them  beauteous 

light  ! 

Dreams  that  prefigure  hopes,  and  hopes  that  take 
Fresh  courage  from  all  life  ;  from  starlight  bold 
Sung  softly  in  by  whip-poor-wills, 
And  sunset's  broad'ning  sails  o'er  hills 
Afar  ;   and  from  the  earth  that  grows  not  old, 
Float  lightly  o'er  our  heads  whether  we  sleep  or  wake. 

Alas  !  to  her  high  place  thro'  sea-deep  tears, 
Earth  wins  her  long,  slow,  agonizing  way  ! 


HYMN   TO   THE   SEA.  35 

The  base,  triumphant  Despot  of  a  day 
Is  weary  Anarch  of  a  thousand  years. 
And  yet  this  many  a  spring  the  boughs  are  sheen 
With  the  almost  forgotten  bloom  !     Call,  Sea, 
Unto  all  faithful  souls,  Doubt  not, 
Aspire  to  lead  earth's  struggling  thought 
Still  up,  bring  what  from  full  hearts  gushes  free, 
He  who  doth  blend  and  shape  the  whole  finds  nothing 
mean. 

When  morning,  loosing  from  its  crimson  drifts, 
Some  panting  skylark  overtakes,  most  tender 
Of  such  weak  rivalship,  and  prone  to  render 
Homage  unto  great-heartedness,  it  lifts 
The  breaking  strain,  and  all  along  its  lines 
Of  thrilling  light,  its  currents  of  pure  air 
And  rosy  mists,  winds  it  at  will, 
Unites  and  separates,  and  still 
Wreathes  it  and  builds  anew  beyond  despair, 
Till  light  is  song,  song  light  thro'  all  heaven's  steadfast 


36  HYMN   TO   THE    SEA. 

0  know  how  all  things  change  !    Night's  violet  star 
Bloomed  red  erewhile  ;    and  thou,  Sea,  wearest 

away 

The  glorious  realm  of  a  forgotten  day, 
But  lay'st  the  pillars  of  a  fairer  far 
Deep  in  thy  caverned  bed  ;  for  all  that  ever 
Gathered  about  it  men's  delight  or  love, 

Or  aught  that  simply  blooms,  or  strives 
To  make  more  beautiful  our  lives, 
In  each  new  fabric  of  the  world,  is  wove 
Afresh,  and  changes  like  the  light,  but  passes  never. 


K.  F. 

You  are  welcome,  world,  to  censure  and  carp  : 
Sing  and  croak  yourselves  hoarse  if  you  will  ; 

'Tis  pleasant  to  find  'mid  blame  and  praise, 
One  who  is  sweet  and  stable  still. 

What !  you  don't  see  that  it's  all  in  vain  ? 

That  Madame  will  neither  be  you  nor  I  : 
But  simply  herself ;  God  bless  her  for  that  ! 

And  grant  us  to  prize  her  accordingly  ! 


TWO    STANZAS. 

SEEM  I  beyond  thy  reach  of  eye 

Or  lip,  mailed  in  the  arrogance 

Of  life  ? — 0  friend,  withhold  no  glance 

Of  love  or  word  of  courtesy  ! 

Ponder  with  carefulness,  and  own 

All  win  as  thou — are  as  thou  art — 
Think  of  the  beggar  in  the  heart — 
Think  what  the  silent  stars  have  known. 


TASSO. 

How  darkly  in  the  far  silence 

Of  my  pitiless  prison-walls, 

I  through  the  night-watches  sit  ! 

High  over  me  speed  Orion, 
The  seven  stars  and  Aldebaraii, 
Sirius  and  the  twin  beauteous  gods. 

Kadiant  in  celestial  spaces, 
Beautiful,  and  free,  and  peaceful, 
As  calm  as  the  pure  heart  of  God  ! 


40  TASSO. 

Ye  winds,  that  have  leave  to  wander 
Deep  into  remotest  heavens, 
Waft  me  to  those  glad  spheres. 

Far  from  the  terrible  noises, 
And  stillness  yet  more  terrific, 
Wild  with  its  dread  interruptions. 

Might  I,  for  an  hour  behind  me, 

Leave  the  long-eating  anguish  and  fear — 

Yes,  0  God  !  the  madness — 

And  feel  the  cool  touch  of  midnight, 
And  the  dew's  most  fresh  benediction, 
And  the  freedom  of  life — of  life  ! 

Away  'mid  the  purple  bloom 

Of  the  hills,  the  south  wind  is  strengthened 

With  the  sweet,  wild  vigor  of  pine. 


TASSO.  41 

The  rock  meets  the  fern's  soft  caress, 
And  that  flower  that  meek  salutation 
Sends  starward,  looks  timid  to  earth. 

Ah  !  the  lark  in  the  cloud-rack  bathes, 
And  drinks  at  the  air's  still  fountains, 
And  is  he  not  thirstless  and  pure  ? 

0  for  life  that  is  life  ! — 

Joy  in  being  ;  hopes  o'er-filling 
The  blessed  to-day  with  to-morrow, 
Faith,  the  queenly,  that  rules  all  hap  ; 

Love,  the  ever-compassionate, 

The  dear  love  of  man  and  of  woman, 

That  affection  whose  sweets  hide  no  sting  ! 

0  bitter  !  that  ever  the  heart, 

Still  asking  impossible  treasure, 

Should  cast  from  it  aught  that  is  loving  ! 


42  TASSO. 

Dear  heart  of  my  mother,  mother 
Long  resting  from  earth  and  anguish, 
Pity — pity,  pity  thy  child  ! 

0  what  have  they  taken  from  me  ? 
Thought,  and  will,  and  affection, 
And  left  for  my  brain  but  a  throb; 

For  my  heart  but  endless  thirsting, 
And  the  blank,  burnt  desert  of  being 
Spread  awful,  and  blinding,  and  mute. 

Yet  sometimes  in  the  great  Presence 
Of  moments  fallen  from  heaven, 
Whose  law,  though  not  known,  I  obey, 

Once  more  is  thought  disentangled, 
And  there  come  the  beautiful  children 
Of  the  eternal  spring  unto  me. 


TASSO.  43 


0  welcome  then  anguish  and  pain, 
And  welcome  bitter  oppression  ! 
Am  I  mad  then  ? — so  let  me  remain. 


THE   PKOSPECT. 

0  WONDROUS  delight  of  a  window 

A  fair  three  stories  high, 
With  its  view  to  the  southward  and  west, 

And  its  limitless  boon  of  sky  ! 

With  its  murmur  and  coo  of  pigeons, 

Settling  upon  the  roof — 
And  a  distant  stir  that  betokens 

A  world  that  is  well  aloof ! 


THE   PROSPECT.  45 

And  here  when  the  heavens  are  azure, 
And  no  dunce  that  you  know  is  near 

To  hint  at  a  weather-breeder, 
In  the  magical  atmosphere  ; 

When  swallows  on  cleaving  pinions, 

Disdaining  the  earth  and  you, 
Follow  the  hunt  far  up 

In  the  calm,  embosoming  blue  ; 

Or  when  in  the  west  mount  Prospect 

Indues  its  purple  ;  and  ah  ! 
When  my  planet  looks  down  on  the  mill-stream 

My  porphyro-genita  ; 

I  look  with  a  half  enchantment 

Over  regions  that  wait  renown, 
The  triple  crest  of  Waltham, 

And  vales  of  Watertown  ; 


46  THE   PKOSPECT. 

Over  orchard,  and  woodland,  and  meadow, 
Where  the  Beaver  its  raving  stills, 

O'er  fair  little  ups  and  downs 
To  the  mighty,  girdling  hills. 

What  silence  of  expectation — 
What  dreaming  on  the  to-come, 

When  up  through  these  valleys  and  hillsides 
Yon  hive  shall  swarm  and  hum  ! 

For  yonder,  beyond  our  paling 

Of  elm,  and  ash,  and  oak, 
Hangs  soft  on  the  purple  distance 

A  visible,  brooding  smoke  ; 

There,  masked  in  brick,  Trimountain 
Bears  somewhat  snobbish  and  chill, 

But  returns  in  its  way  the  salute 
Of  oak-crowned  Meetinus  hill 


THE   PBOSPECT.  47 

But  here,  while  I  may,  I  am  laughing 

To  think  how  pleasant  a  thing. 
To  fly  to  this  skiey  quiet, 

And  freshen  a  ruffled  wing. 

My  poverty  and  its  vexations 

Vanish  and  leave  me  free  : — 
From  Cushing's,  inclusive,  eastward 

To  the  feet  of  the  journeying  sea  ; 

From  the  hither  wall  of  Barnard 

To  Knohscot's  blue  recess — 
Through  lands  of  Locke  to  the  south 

With  acres  more  or  less, 

In  the  yield  of  all  farms  and  woodlands, 

We,  Kohin  and  I,  go  shares  ; 
And  our  landlords  are  sunheams  and  waters, 

And  grudge  us  no  repairs. 


48  THE   PROSPECT. 

Ah  world,  if  you  yet  must  have  me, 
Sing  me  a  better  strain, 

Or  hold  me  a  moment,  I  pray, 
Lightly,  and  loose  me  again. 


THE  BKIDGE  OF  THE  DEAGON/ 

GODLIKE  is  goodness  ! — evermore  serene, 
And  young,  and  prodigal  of  lovely  days  ! 

A  touch  of  magnanimity  where  men  are  mean, 
A  vestal  thought  in  earth's  polluted  ways, 

Forgiveness,  grateful  as  the  oak's  large  green, 
A  generous  faith  in  one  who  errs,  like  rays 

Surviving  the  lost  star,  for  ever  make 

A  bubbling  in  the  desert  for  our  sake. 

And  so,  most  glad,  I  turn  from  the  unreal, 
Sad  shows  of  life,  impatient  lips  to  wet 
At  an  old  well  of  freshness  ;  to  that  leal 

Sweet  vision  of  St.  Margaret ;  may  she  yet 
3 


50  THE   BRIDGE    OF    THE   DRAGON. 

Kestore  to  many  a  heart  its  lost  ideal, 

And  help  me  for  some  moments  to  forget, 
Borne  on  the  cooling  stillness  of  the  dream, — 
How  the  loud  multitude  without  blaspheme  ! 

Might  it  have  "been  at  such  an  hour  as  this, 
An  autumn  eventide,  that  Margaret  said  : 

"  God  binds  his  ancient  world  to  perfectness, 
Veined  is  every  wind-flower  with  faint  red, 

Five  petals  must  the  wild-brier  have,  no  less  ; 
And  in  the  cavern's  black  and  silent  shade, 

The  hoar  rocks  flower,  like  lilies  in  bright  air, 

The  secret'st  thoughts  of  God  are  all  so  fair  !  " 

Through  arching  boughs,  o'er  which  the  clematis 
Tosses  its  misty  curls,  and  woodbines  run, 

A  wandering  flame,  and  grapes  swing,  not  the  less 
For  ivy  near,  glooms  goldenly  the  sun, 

As  through  an  old  church-window  ; — if  I  miss 
The  pictured  saints,  the  sounds  immortal,  won 


THE    BRIDGE    OF    THE    DRAGON.  51 

From  fields  of  silence,  yet  be  this  the  glory 
Leading  me  to  those  quaint  days,  and  to  my  story  ! 

Summer  was  flaunting  wide,  when  sudden  blight 
Paled  all ;  the  leaf,  the  grain,  the  autumn  fruit 

Set  in  the  stalk  ;  as  on  a  perfect  night 

The  nightingale,  mid-song,  struck  sudden  mute. 

Margaret,  in  sad  disquiet  at  the  sight, 

Wept  for  her  people,  wept  for  the  poor  brute 

Chained  to  the  stall :  alas  !  and  none  could  tell 

What  malady  it  was  which  thus  befell. 

Wild,  they  implored  the  saints — the  Christ,  all  pale, 
All  powerful,  drooping  from  the  awful  rood  ; — 

But  ah,  what  dismal,  broken-hearted  wail 

Was  there — what  bitter  freezing  in  the  blood, 

When  tidings  came,  that  prone  across  their  vale, 
Long  leagues  away  in  the  primeval  wood, 

With  breath  secreting  pestilential  dew, 

His  hideous  bulk  of  ill,  the  Dragon  threw ! 


52  THE    BKIDGE    OF    THE   DRAGON. 

They  sought  in  vain  to  reason  of  their  ill. 

Frantic  were  some,  and  cried  bewildered  : 
"  We  are  but  playthings  of  Almighty  will." — 

"  Take  we  our  flocks  and  cattle/'  others  said, 
"  And  last  year's  hoardings  of  the  press  and  mill ; 

Alas  !  what  fruitful  valley  lies  ahead, 
Or  whither  shall  we  go,  that  pestilence 
And  aching  famine  may  not  follow  hence  ?  " 

They  called  to  mind  the  ancient  prophecy 
That  in  the  fiery  Dragon's  rule  abhorred, 

The  first  year,  blight  would  take  the  grain,  and  dry 
The  honey  juices,  which  their  orchards  stored  ; 

But  if  another  spring,  his  ghastly  sigh 

Came  curdling  up  the  wind,  shedding  abroad 

Its  sick,  hoar  vapors,  far  more  dreadful  blight 

On  man  and  beast,  and  on  the  earth  would  light. 

Ere  then,  dead  seers  had  said,  worse  loss  will  be, 
Than  loss  of  corn  and  wine  : — of  noble  dower 


THE   BRIDGE   OF   THE   DRAGON.  53 

In  knightly  skill  and  gentle  courtesy, 
Of  states'  parental  care  : — a  bitter  hour 

Of  helpless  tears  and  low-lipped  mockery  ; 
When  thought  is  low,  and  all  abroad  a  power 

Of  subtle  evil  rife,  and  few  aware, 

And  vernal-hearted  men  fail  everywhere. 

At  morn  they  celebrate  the  solemn  mass. 

In  the  thin  light,  wan  look  the  choristers, 
And  wan  the  priest — a  piteous  sight,  alas  ! 

But  heart-like,  tenderly,  the  music  stirs 
And  throbs  ;  and  keen,  strong-winged,  doth  overpass 

The  large-eyed  multitude  upon  the  floors, 
'Mid  the  all-powerful  relics,  bending  low, 
And  'neath  St.  Catherine's  heaven-illumined  brow. 

On  Margaret's  lids  that  saintly  radiance  stole, 

As  in  the  pauses  of  the  holy  chaunt, 
Like  a  continued  harmony,  her  soul 

Went  on  in  thought  ; — as  if  some  ministrant 


54  THE   BEIDGE    OF    THE   DKAGON. 

And  heavenly  joy  were  given  for  earthly  dole, 

O'er  lids  and  brow   it  spread — like  streams  that 

haunt 

The  northern  stars,  waving  in  dreamy  play, 
And  warmed  her  kneeling  shadow  all  away. 

To  her  it  seemed,  that  from  celestial  height, 

The    good    St.   Catherine   leaned,  and  said,  Dear 
child, 

The  Virgin  pure,  mother  of  godlike  might, 
Teaches  the  loving  heart  and  undefiled, 

All  it  shall  do  ;  have  faith  in  that  far  light  ! 
Surely  it  was  no  dream,  surely  she  smiled, 

And  bending  over  her  still  further,  lo  ! 

She  kissed  her  warm  eyelids,  and  kissed  her  brow. 

The  noble  music  softly  pined  away  : — 

And,  hiding  in  her  bosom's  blameless  pride, 

The  glittering  rosary,  upon  her  way 
Went  Margaret  forth  :  the  heavens  no  good  denied, 


THE    BRIDGE    OF    THE    DRAGON.  55 

Xo  omen  sweet ;  transparent  shone  the  day, 

And  rich  with  flowings  of  the  summer  tide  :— 
"  But  earth  is  sick,"  she  mused,  "  she  takes  no  heed  ;" 
And  through  her  brain  thoughts  ran  with  crimson  speed. 


From  day  to  day  more  grievous  waxed  their  bale, — 
Weeks  passed  and  months,  nor  any  comfort  brought; 

Like  one  who  treads  a  death-room,  cold  and  pale, 
With  velvet  pace  the  light  stole  in  and  out ; 

There  was  no  winged  joy — no  insect  wail — 
No  hum  of  little  life  always  about  ; 

Till  summer  wasted  by,  and  from  the  north 

The  fierce  gales  blew,  and  drove  the  monster  forth. 

Brief  joy  !  brief  hope  !  sad  breathing  space  for  those 
Who  but  take  breath  to  meet  the  coming  toil ! 

'l  When  May  returns,"  they  cried,  "  with  the  early  rose, 
Jesus  us  save,  and  God  our  sins  assoil ! 

All  hope  is  gone  from  us,  all  dear  repose, 
For  guilty  have  we  been,  we  may  not  foil 


56         THE  BRIDGE  AND  THE  DKAGON. 

Just  doom."  So  winter  passed,  and  roaring  March, 
And  April  came,  quick  glimmering  through  God's  arch. 

Ah,  what  a  joy  ! — along  fresh  winking  rills, 

Crept  the  young  green  :  the  swallows,  many  a  one, 

Turned  their  far-travelled  wings,  and  daffodils 
Were  merry  in  the  heart-reviving  sun. 

The  wind-flower  pale  and  violet  o'er  the  hills 
Found  footing  here  and  there,  and  every  dun, 

Stark  limb  and  twig  emitted  its  soft  flame  ; 

And  this  was  May,  and  with  the  rose  she  came. 

Did  then  the  o'erburthened  winds  of  May-time  rave  ? 

Or  little  daisies  babble  as  they  reeled  ? 
Or  came  the  word  on  some  elysian  wave, 

That,  to  a  maiden  it  had  been  revealed 
How,  praise  to  Christ,  she  might  her  people  save  ? 

Alone  would  she  go  forth  through  wood  and  field, 
And  passing  o'er  the  dragon's  fallen  pride, 
Meet  them  in  joy  upon  the  further  side. 


THE   BRIDGE   OF   THE   DRAGON.  57 

And  they  believed.     Ah,  blessed  to  believe  ! 

In  gentleness,  in  love  outwearying  fate, 
In  Mary,  mother,  ever  to  believe  ! 

0  love,  be  conquered  never  by  old  hate  ! 
No  noble  heart  of  its  sweet  faith  bereave  ! 

The  world  is  watching  at  your  palace-gate 
With  various  eyes,  and  all  the  Past  crowds  here, 
And  all  the  Future  waits  with  anxious  fear. 

When  the  first  taint  in  May's  delicious  breath, 
Warned  them  to  part,  with  hopeful  steps  apace, 

They  journeyed  forth.     Stranger,  and  kin,  and  kith, 
Slow  age,  and  childhood  with  its  supple  grace, 

And  thoughtful  prime,  and  infancy  therewith, 
Depart  to  skirt  the  mountain's  shadowy  base, 

And  resting  off  the  monster's  further  side, 

Watch  from  afar  what  fortune  should  betide. 

Then  Silence  reigned,  that  ancient  Eremite  ! 

And  Margaret  from  her  dwelling,  as  a  star, 
3* 


58  THE   BKIDGE    OF    THE   DRAGON. 

Awakes  upon  some  softly-bosomed  night, 

Came  forth  :  no  evil  taint  her  path  might  mar ; 

The  May  winds  breathed  about  her  their  delight ; 
The  heavens  spread  broad  and  calm,  they  looked 
not  far  ; 

With  all  their  depth,  their  old,  mysterious  birth, 

They  seemed  to  be  the  feeling  of  the  earth. 

Along  the  valley,  green,  and  warm,  and  soft, 

A  fresh-leaved  myrtle-branch  in  hand,  she  went  ; 

Mildly  the  sober  people  of  the  croft 

Gazed  after  her  ;  the  little  skylark  lent 

A  soul  to  the  embracing  blue,  and  soon  aloft 
The  antique  wood  leaned  over  her,  attent, 

And  dropped  its  pictured  glooms  upon  her  fair, 

White-gleaming  vesture  and  her  shining  hair. 

What  thoughts  her  angel  steps  accompanied  ! 
Grave  legends,  fragrant  of  the  olden  time  ; 


THE   BRIDGE   OF   THE    DRAGON.  59 

Tales  of  heroic  worth,  and  faitli,  or  deed 

Smooth  tuned  unto  some  sweet,  immortal  rhyme  : — 
But,  dearest  to  her  heart,  were  thoughts  which  fed 

Its  anxious  hope — of  patient  love,  sublime 
In  noiseless  triumph  over  force  and  hate, 
And  brutal  wrath,  and  lusts  intemperate. 

She  was  with  noble  Daniel,  given  o'er 
Unto  like  shaggy  doom  ;  and,  unaware 

Her  busy  heart  conceived  him  evermore, 
As  beautiful,  with  heavenly  look,  and  air 

By  deathless  youth  upborne.     Still  memory  bore 
Unto  her  side,  true  saints  enshrined  there, — 

Heroes  of  life-long  patience  and  pure  will, 

Who  kept  her  heart  to  its  calm  centre  still. 

Through  the  green  darkness  thus  she  journeyed  on. 

The  sun  went  down,  the  brightness  fled  away 
From  the  warm  west,  as  when  one  dies,  anon 

From  brow  to  heart  the  white  eclipse  makes  way, 


60  THE   BKIDGE   OF    THE   DKAGON. 

And  for  the  time  a  sadder  grace  is  won, 

So  ebbed  the  crimson  current  of  the  day 
To  its  great,  vanished  heart  ;  and  over  all 
Looked  forth  the  stars — far,  still,  ethereal. 

• 

She  rested  her  in  many  a  haunted  woof 

Of  song,  and  dews,  and  light,  and  shadows  shifting, 
As  the  blithe  company  of  leaves  aloof 

Danced  in  the  fragrant  night-winds  calm  uplifting. 
Sometimes  through  azure  chasms,  in  the  thick  roof 

High  overhead,  the  kindling  moon  went  drifting 
In  masses  of  white  light  on  banks  of  gloom, 
Or  shimmering  Albeles  rich  with  sudden  bloom. 

And  if  the  clouds  swelled  gloomily,  and  sent 
Their  fever-tongues  into  the  cool,  dark  air, 

That  shrined  her  brightness  in  its  moving  tent, 
They  harmed  her  not  : — as  nature  everywhere 

Had  dreamed  a  human  dream,  whereso  she  went, 
All  things  breathed  peace.     So  wondrous  night  did 
wear 


THE    BKIDGE    OF    THE    DRAGON.  61 

Into  white  dawn,  the  dawn  to  early  day, 
And  in  her  path  the  mighty  serpent  lay. 

All  morning-fresh,  like  a  new-fallen  thought 

From  God's  deep  life,  stood  she.     She  felt  the  jar, 

The  air  with  freaks  of  flame,  with  hiss,  and  spot 
Staining  the  amber  dawn,  and  blood-red  bar, 

All  elfinly  alive  :  but  she  saw  not, 

Nor  ever  on  him  looked  ;  she  saw  afar 

Her  breathless  people  through  the  hiss  and  flame, 

Their  babes  uplifted  towards  her  as  she  came. 

A  moment  to  her  heart  crept  the  chill  frost. 

One  shrinking  foot  she  set  on  that  huge  ill, 
A  sunbeam  on  a  dead  trunk,  century-mossed  ; 

One  step — another  and  another  still  ! — 
Gasping,  as  he  would  lick  her  hand,  all  lost, 

His  head  upturned  ; — she  passed,  and  prone  he  fell 
As  the  glad  day  came  in — death's  dull,  blue  veil 
Settling  o'er  all  his  limbs  and  rainbow  mail. 


EVENING. 

THE  sun  has  dropped  down  through  the  west  ; 

And  twilight  deepens  on  : — 
A  wink  and  a  pale  wink,  here  and  there, 

So  the  stars  come,  one  by  one. 

A  thoughtful  life  is  a  pleasant  life— 
Yea — dreams  in  a  wild-brier  lane  ; 

The  air  soft  kindling  with  the  moon 
Midway  of  her  stately  reign. 


EVENING.  63 

Where  the  broad  light  lies  wavelessly, 

Where  the  toiling  sun  has  lain, 
A  tree  and  its  shadow,  wondrous  still, 

Kuling  the  grassy  plain  ! 

The  river  to  the  distant  sea, 

Murmuring,  murmuring  goes  ; 
Type  of  a  life  that  broods  and  sings 

On  unto  its  quiet  close. 

Keen  firefly  in  the  barberry  shade, 

That  warm'st  it  with  such  busy  light, 

Bear  with  me — rest  is  deeper  life, 
The  centering  of  faith  and  might. 

Thanks— that  along  the  shifting  sands, 

As  moves  our  sleepless  tent, 
Moments  of  higher  calm  are  given, 

And  of  more  true  content  ! 


64  EVENING.  . 

Content ;  the  world  falls  off,  and  leaves 

A  measure  nobler  grained, 
By  which  I  try  the  seeming  lost, 

As  well  as  seeming  gained. 

Beauty  that  fillest,  why  makest  sad  ? 

Thou  hast  no  want,  no  haste  ; 
Is  it  that  thou  o'erflowest  my  soul, 

And  I  lament  the  waste  ? 

Dear  heart,  whose  pulses  with  my  own 
Keep  their  mysterious  move, 

That  fillest  every  transient  pause, 
With  music  of  thy  love  ; 

Art  not  thou  patient  too  to-night, 
Divining  what  true  strength, 

What  life  is  ours,  what  joy  to  come, 
And  far-off  calm  at  length  ? 


BEETHA. 

THE  leaves  have  fallen  from  the  trees, 
For  under  them  grew  the  buds  of  May  ; 
And  such  is  constant  Nature's  way  ; 

Let  us  accept  the  work  of  her  hand  : 
If  the  wild  winds  sweep  bare  the  height, 
Still  something  is  left  for  heart's  delight — 

Let  us  but  know  and  understand. 

Bertha  looked  from  the  rocky  cliff, 

Whose  foot  the  tender  foam-wreaths  kissed — 
Towards  the  outer  circle  of  mist 

That  hedged  the  old  and  wonderful  sea  ; 


66  BERTHA. 

Below  her  as  if  with  endless  hope, 
Up  the  beach's  marbled  slope, 

The  waters  clornb  unweariedly. 

Many  a  long-bleached  sail  in  sight, 
Hovered  awhile,  then  flitted  away 
Beyond  the  opening  of  the  bay. 

Fair  Bertha  entered  her  cottage  late  : 
"  He  does  not  come,"  she  said,  and  smiled, 
"  But  the  shore  is  dark  and  the  sea  is  wild, 

And,  dearest  Father,  we  still  must  wait." 


She  hastened  to  her  inner  room, 
And  silently  mused  there  alone  : 
"  Three  springs  have  come — three  winters  gone, 

And  still  we  wait  from  hour  to  hour  ; 
But  earth  waits  long  for  her  harvest  time, 
And  the  aloe,  in  the  northern  clime, 

Waits  an  hundred  years  for  its  flower. 


BEETHA.  67 

"  Under  the  apple  boughs  as  I  sit 

In  May-time,  when  the  robin's  song 
Thrills  the  odorous  winds  along, 

The  innermost  heaven  seems  to  ope — 
I  think,  though  the  old  joys  pass  from  sight, 
Still  something  is  left  for  heart's  delight — 

For  life  is  endless  and  so  is  hope. 

"  If  the  aloe  wait  an  hundred  years  ; 
And  God's  times  are  so  long,  indeed, 
FDr  simple  things,  as  flower  and  weed, 

That  gather  only  the  light  and  gloom, — 
For  what  great  treasures  of  joy  and  dole, 
Of  life,  and  death  perchance,  must  the  soul 
Ere  it  flower  in  heavenly  peace,  find  room  ! 

(C  I  see  that  all  things  wait  in  trust, 
As  feeling  afar  God's  distant  ends — 
And  unto  every  creature,  he  sends 


68  BERTHA. 

That  measure  of  good  that  fills  its  scope  : 
The  marmot  enters  the  stiffening  mould, 
And  the  worm  its  dark,  sepulchral  fold, 

To  hide  there  with  its  beautiful  hope." 

Yet  Bertha  waited  on  the  cliff, 

To  catch  the  gleam  of  a  coming  sail, 
And  the  distant  whisper  of  the  gale 

Winging  the  unforgotten  home  : — 
And  hope  at  her  yearning  heart  would  knock, 
When  a  sunbeam  on  a  far-off  rock 

Married  a  wreath  of  wandering  foam. 

Was  it  well  ?  you  ask. — (nay,  was  it  ill  ?) 

Who  sat  last  year  by  the  old  man's  hearth, — 
The  sun  had  passed  below  the  earth, 

And  the  first  star  locked  his  western  gate- 
When  Bertha  entered  her  darkening  home, 
And  smiling,  said  :  "He  does  not  come, 

But,  dearest  Father,  we  still  can  wait !  " 


SUSANNA. 

» 

WEARY  Sea, 

Spare  us  your  dull  monotony  ! 
Up  in  the  noble  hill-land  are  we, 
Unto  its  breezes  we  trust  our  fame — • 
Nothing  here  is  weary  or  tame. 

What  jubilant  springs  these  hills  have  greened — 
What  silent  snows  have  intervened — 
What  magical  summers  over  them  leaned — 
What  autumns  lighted  the  sombre  wood, 
And  crimsoned  it,  as  with  its  own  heart's  blood  ! 


70  SUSANNA. 

The  wife  of  Ernest,  in  yonder  hut, 
Will  tell  you  how  many  years  have  put 
Their  green  on  the  oak,  and  dropped  the  nut, 
Since  this  tall  grov^  of  walnut-trees 
Shook  their  young  tresses  in  the  breeze. 

The  mountain-spring  sings  down  this  way, 
Through  night  and  twilight  into  day  ; — 
She  told  me  how  many  inches,  the  play 
Of  the  frolicsome  waters,  had  spread, 
Since  first  she  knew  it,  the  narrow  bed. 

I  said  to  her,  "  Mother,  'tis  well 
In  such  fixed  peace  as  yours  to  dwell ; 
No  sad  mutation  you  chronicle  ; 
Nothing  is  stable  within  my  range, 
But  the  stern,  old  principle  of  change." 

She  was  stooping  over  her  herbs  in  the  grass — 
Snake-root,  and  flag,  and  sassafras, 
Winter-green  and — you  know — a  mass 


SUSANNA.  71 

Of  fragrant  rubbish, — as  the  bent  mast  rears, 
She  uplifted  her  eighty  years. 

• 
She  pointed  to  her  hut  by  the  wood — 

Sixty  years  and  more  it  has  stood, 

Very  lowly,  you  see,  and  rude — 

"  Much  the  same  is  that  windy  shell, 

As  when  Ernest  and  I  went  there  to  dwell. 

"  Young  were  we  both,  with  little  care  ; 
While  he  went  out  to  hunt  the  bear, 
I  kept  the  hearth  or  took  my  share 
In  the  garden-work — till  Ernest  was  given, 
And  Mary  and  Jane  by  gracious  Heaven. 

"  I  thought  God's  singers  I  should  not  hear, 
Or  the  locusts  in  the  maples  near, 
In  the  hot  noontide,  for  the  music  dear 
Of  my  roof-tree  birds — but  God  is  good, 
And  where  he  is,  no  solitude.. 


72  SUSANNA. 

"  Our  silent  Ernest  I  sought  to  teach, 
When  two  years  old,  the  birds'  glad  speech, 

The  quail,  the  wren,  the  cat-bird's  screech  ; 

• 

He  looked  where  I  pointed  and  shook  his  head, 
He  did  not  hear  the  words  I  said. 

"  Mary,  the  next,  no  soulful  sound 

E'er  heard  or  uttered  ;  the  mole  in  the  ground 

Is  not  more  still  and  fancy-bound 

Than  she,  poor  child  ! — only  our  Jane 

Can  hear  my  words  and  answer  again. 

"  Jane  is  married  and  lives  below  : 
Ernest,  the  father,  under  the  snow 
Was  buried  ten  strong  winters  ago  ; 
But  life  since  then  has  not  stood  still ; 
I  journey  on  through  good  and  ill. 

"  Change  is  the  winged  child  of  Grod  ; 
Lay  oif,  if  need,  each  cherished  good, 
And  thus  renew  the  noble  blood  ; 


SUSANNA. 

As  nature  gently  puts  away 

Her  sweetest  shows — her  Fall — her  May. 

"  But  'tis  not  always  strife  or  rest, 
Not  outward  worst,  or  outward  best, 
Not  north,  south,  east  or  west, 
That  wafts  its  seasons  to  the  soul, 
And  leads  it  to  the  All-Good  and  Whole. 

"  Yon  singing  Pine's  majestic  crest 
Looks  now  as  when  I  saw  it  first ; 
Yet  every  beam  and  breath  have  nursed 
Its  constant  bloom,  and  to  the  seer 
3Tis  other  than  it  was  last  year." 

Filling  her  apron  with  her  stock 
Of  herbs,  she  said,  "  The  mallows  and  dock 
Grow  southward  ;  a  cleft  of  the  rock 
Shelters  the  blood-root  ;  and  fennel  sweet 

And  winter-green  you  there  will  meet. 
4 


74  SUSANNA. 

"  Here's  bitter  that  will  give  you  health  ; 
There's  sweet  that  takes  the  life  by  stealth  ; 
And  this  I  call  '  old  woman's  wealth  ; ' 
It  soothes  the  nerves  and  coaxes  sleep  ; '' 
And  she  gave  me  of  it  to  drink  and  keep. 

See  there,"  God's  Smile  !  "  it  almost  girds 
Our  mountain's  base — and  hark,  the  birds  ! 
How  endless  then  are  His  wise  words  ! 
"  Sunbeams  and  breaths  " — to  appear  again 
In  noble  lives  of  women  and  men  ! 


THE    SHAH. 

NAY,  said  the  Persian,  you  are  wrong  ; 
We  are  the  centre  ;  earth  stands  still, 
And  the  sun  and  stars  revolve  at  will 

Bound  and  round  forever. 
The  Shah  in  the  midst  stands  up  erect  ; 
We  and  the  Shah  are  the  Gods'  elect, 

All  things  were  made  for  us. 

0  regal  Persian,  had  you  eyes 
On  your  grand  height,  for  what  goes  on 
Beyond  the  Shah's  dominion, 


76  THE    SHAH. 

Well  might  you  open  them  ! 
'Tis  good  to  look  at  you  and  smile, 
Though  we  plume  our  wings  and  say  the  while, 

Look  here,  what  a  mistake  ! 

'Tis  but  the  breach  of  an  old  command, 
To  covet  for  self  what's  made  for  all, 
The  meanest  of  sins  since  Adam's  fall : — 

Let  us  not  laugh  at  it  ! 
How  many  stand  up  and  say  in  effect, 
We  and  the  Shah  are  the  Gods'  elect, 

All  things  were  made  for  us  ! 

0  Sun,  that  sweetly  laughest  o'er  all, 
0  winds,  that  of  the  open  heaven 
Sing  to  us  morn  and  eke  at  even, 

Patience,  bear  with  us  long  ! 
We  are  not  base,  we  are  but  dull — 
Plead  on,  till  human  souls  are  full, 

And  match  your  light  and  song  ! 


KEASONABLENESS. 

WOULD  but  the  sun  shine, 
Would  but  the  rain  cease, 

Would  but  dear  Iris  come — 
Then  would  there  be  peace  ! 

See  how  the  sun  shines  ! 

The  rain  begins  to  cease, 
Iris  herself  is  here  ; 

And,  prithee,  where  is  peace  ? 


LOUD  heart,  that  sleep'st  when  the  world's  awake, 
I  pray  you  sleep  now  ;  go  to  your  rest, 

0  owl-like  and  wild,  and  let  me  take 

The  calm  and  the  full  delight,  that  o'er 

My  quiet  room  the  moonbeams  pour, 
Into  my  arms  and  unto  my  breast, 
And  ask  for  nothing  more. 


ALL'S  to  gain, 
All  is  to  come  between  us  twain  ! 

0  never  can  serve 
Fruition  and  conquered  reserve 
To  feed  the  soul  with  a  bliss, 

So  momently  waking, 
So  troubled,  but  deep  as  death, 
With  a  surface  doubt  and  an  under  faith 

Over  it  breaking, — 
As  this  which  we  feel — as  this  ! 


THE  OENCrS  DKEAM, 

(IN   THE   NIGHT   PEEVIOUS   TO    HER   EXECUTION.) 

COVER  me,  mother  of  God,  with  silence  and  pity  ! 

Let  the  noise  of  the  pleaders  cease,  the  jar  of  their 
wranglings — 

And  all  the  confusion  of  crowds,  the  gazing  and  won- 
der ! 

And  again,  as  of  old,  when  the  sunshine  awoke  and 
laughed  through  me, 

We  twain,  little  brother  of  mine,  little  Kocco  and  I, 

Will  go  each  with  an  arm  round  the  other,  out  into 
the  fields. 


THE    CENCl'S   DEEAM.  81 

My  Rocco;  lie  died,  as  we  know  ; — I  remember,  I  shud- 
dered, 

And  gasped,  as  if  heaven  had  drawn  all  its  breath  in, 
for  horror. 

But  then  he  was  safe,  he  and  Cristo,  no  worse  could 
befall  them  ; 

And  together  they  lay,  with  the  twilight  upon  them, 
the  darkness 

Of  earth  yet  unpassed,  and  white  dawnings  of  peace. 
But  somehow 

My  Rocco  is  with  me,  is  here — comes  hither  to  meas- 
ure 

An  hour  for  once  by  its  sunshine. — And,  darling,  to 
wander 

With  thee  is  so  good  !  to  glide  o'er  the  sunset  Cam- 
pagna, 

As  if  we  had  wings,  and  we  have, — and  gaze  in  the 
fire-well 

That  sucks  back  the  broad  day  to  its  heart — and 
watch  in  returning 


82  THE    CENCl'S   DEEAM. 

The  procroant  east,  as  it  slowly  heaps  up  towards  the 

zenith, 
Its  violet  and  rose,  for  a  twelve-hour's  remembrance 

and  promise 
To  earth  in  her  darkness  ! — Such  heart-ease  I  feel,  and 

such  gladness  ! 

Thou  leadest — I  follow — and  see,  of  all  fields  for  re- 
posing, 
Thou  alightest  with  me  here  ! — here,  where  heart's- 

ease  is  growing  and  purpling 
The  infinite  level ! — And  0,  dost  thou  cover  me  with 

it? 
Head,  bosom  and  arms,  with  the  wealth  more  than 

regal  ? — 'and  leaning 
Thy  forehead  to  mine,  make  better  their  breath  with 

thine  own, 
As  thou  murmurest  deeply,  "  Poor  child,"    0,  at  that, 

how  mine  eyes 
Grow  dark  all  at  once,  with  wild  tears  !     0,  what  I 

have  suffered, 


THE   CENCl'S   DREAM.  83 

The  angels  may  know,  who  can  bear  it — but  never 
thou,  darling ! 

"Little  sister  beloved, — through  what  paths  the  In- 
finite leads  us, 

That  we  miss  not  the  beautiful  end,  which,  below  our 
horizon, 

Smiles  upward  to  Him,  who  could  guess  ?  his  minis- 
ters know  we, 

Nor  by  presence,  nor  sign,  nor  like  favor.  To  one 
sends  he  a  mother, 

With  patience  and  motherly  urgings,  to  mould  the 
young  spirit 

To  faultless  proportions,  to  strength  and  high-hearted 
endurance  ; — 

With  like  end  to  another,  it  may  be,  a  father  like  ours. 

Thou  hast  '  suffered  ! '  0  fearful  to  think,  since  in 
hatred,  he  struck  us, 

From  life  and  thy  side,  what  tortures  and  fear  may 
have  rent  thee  ! 


84  THE   CENCl'S   DREAM. 

But  round  thee  at  darkest,  some  pure-eyed  intelligence 

waited, 
And  anguished  to  show  thee  one  glimpse  of  the  High- 

est's  arcana. 
And  if,  overwrought  and  o'ermaddened,  thou  had'st 

erred  and  stumbled, 
The  Blessed  himself  would  have  hastened  to  lift  and 

forgive  thee. 
But  listen,  and  know  what  great  joy  may  be  thine  in 

the  future  ! " 

0  Kocco,  thou  see'st  how  my  face  is  all  kindled  at 
thine  ! 

"  This  flower,  which  thy  sweet  body  crushes,  where- 
withal too,  I  mantle 

And  hide  thee  from  trouble,  is  only  the  mortal  fore- 
shadow 

Of  beds  of  unperishing  sweet  and  contentment,  which 
yonder 


THE    CENCl'S    DREAM.  85 

In  ineffable  azure  we  make  thee  ; — but  in  regions  of 

twilight, 
We  spread  for  our  father,  the  rue — great  meadows  of 

rue — 
Round  and  under  still,  rue — which  means  sorrow,  and 

sorrow,  and  sorrow." 

0  pity  ! — some  heart's-ease  for  him,  too  ! 

"  Nay,  listen  !  when  ages 

And  ages  have  told  their  slow  tale  in  the  rock,  there 
shall  haply 

Go  forth  on  its  timorous  venture  to  heaven,  some 
breathing, 

Sigh  of  a  soul  for  its  lost  and  never-returning, — 

For  a  love  that  was  trampled,  a  peace  that  was  mur- 
dered, a  goodness 

Flung  back  with  incredible  mockings — and  thence- 
forth our  father, 


86  THE    CENCl'S   DKEAM. 

With  gradual  change,  shall  fade  from  the  place  of  his 

anguish  ; 
Fade  thence  and  grow  into  light,  till  the  angels  who 

dwell  there, 
Distinguish  and  hasten  to  meet  him.     Could'st  thou 

see,  little  sister, 
How  fair  he  will  be  in  that  luminous  air — and  fatherly 

tender !  " 

0  Christ,  may  this  be  ! 

"  If  earth  nourish  one  being — an  angel 

More  constant  than  spring,  with  its  delicate  myrtle, 

who  shall  labor 
And   watch  to   the  end  ; — resisting   and   watching 

through  darkness, 
And  wrestling  with  demons  to  win  him,  she  shall  plant 

in  his  spirit 

Some  germ  of  a  faith  in  the  ever  unchangeable  love 
And  goodness  eternal,  that,  little  by  little,  shall  gather, 


THE   CENCl'S   DREAM.  87 

And  grow,  and  redeem  him  ; — as,  deep  in  the  fire  of 

even, 
Is  born  the  soft  ray  of  the  planet,  and  night  through 

its  silence, 
Throbs  surely  and  slow  to  its  fulness  of  stars.     And 

thou — 
Thou  only  wilt  do  this — wilt  do  it  and  save  him — thou 

Angel ! " 

How  I  shrieked  !  how  I  tore  up  the  stillness  !  0  par- 
don, grave  judges, 

Awful — black-bearded — there  waiting  to  sentence  ! 
but  Kocco, 

My  brother,  was  here — and  whither  he  went,  most 
strangely 

I  saw  not.  Perhaps  he  returned  into  bliss — and  it 
may  be, 

He  goes  to  spread  meadows  of  rue — other  meadows  of 
rue — 

Rue,  under  and  round,  which  means  sorrow,  and  sor- 
row, and  sorrow. 


APPLEDORE. 

LOOK  northward  from  this  rock  and  see, 
Half  imaged  in  the  dreamy  stone, 

Two  heads — a  veiled  Eternity, 
A  Destiny,  stern,  cold  and  lone. 

This  grimly  fronts  the  aspiring  wave, 
And  seems  to  say,  Strive  as  you  will. 

And  lash  my  brow  all  idly  brave, 
You  are  a  trembling  vassal  still. 


APPLEDORE.  89 

That,  with  a  human  softness,  nears 
The  breathing  Sea,  and  says,  0  child, 

Judge  not  of  life  by  partial  years — 
In  me  all  things  are  reconciled  ! 


UNDINE. 

is  a  small  and  daring  sprite, 
She  is  three  years  old  to-night, — 
Whom  I  call,  La  Motte  Fouque, 
After  your  fairy  Undine  ! 
Mid  her  wind-blown  tresses,  bright 
Shifts  and  plays  the  captive  light, 
As  the  northern  morn  in  fair 
Berenice's  golden  hair  ; 
Clouds,  her  eyes,  which  cannot  keep 
Their  sweet  lightnings  save  in  sleep  ; 


UNDINE.  91 

And  about  her  mobile  mouth. 
Fresh  with  north  and  warm  with  south, 
Importunate  for  their  fees,  . 
Come  and  go  invisible  bees. 

* 

Would  you  the  magic  will  resist 
Of  this  elf  monopolist  ? 
She  is  not  like  Atlas,  curled, 
Stooping  'neath  the  gray  old  world, 
But  she  takes  it  lithe  and  bland, 
Easily  in  her  small  hand. 
Spring  is  hers  and  summer  flowers, 
And  fair  autumn's  mellow  hours, 
And  winter,  'mid  his  hummocks  set, 
Delights  to  be  her  hideous  pet. 
This  is  what  all  people  say 
Of  our  charming  Undine. 

Erewhile  I  looked  upon  her  face, 

And  said,  It  is  good,  it  lights  apace  ; — 

Fills  with  soul  as  lilies  with  light  ; 


92  UNDINE. 

And,  to  keep  it  ever  in  sight, 
Wrote  in  my  heart  upon  that  day 
The  story  of  sweet  Undine  ; 
Who  roamed  at  will  the  idle  air, 
Empty,  alas  !  of  thought  and  care, 
Till  love  came,  with  the  old  surprise 
Of  a  soul  for  the  elfin  eyes. 

Better  than  praise  thy  tale  doth  move, 
Poet,  that  singest  so  well  of  love  ! 
Thanks,  for  all  that  on  th»  earth 
Seek  the  sign  of  the  second  birth  ! 
Accept  the  gratitude  I  pay, 
Thinking  of  this  our  Undine. 
What  Love  creates,  Love  best  can  teach  ; 
And  as  we  would  that  she  should  reach 
Upward,  from  fruitful  hour  to  hour, 
To  purity,  and  sight,  and  power, 
So  we  would  lead  her  heart  to  know 
The  love  of  all  things,  high  and  low  ; 


UNDINE.  93 

The  skies,  with  sun  and  moon  impearled, 
And  underneath,  the  common  world  ; 
And  make  ourselves,  aught  else  before, 
Lovely,  that  she  may  love  us  more. 


HALF   AWAKE. 

AH,  working-day  life, 
Pain,  struggle  and  strife — 
Ado  and  undoing, 
Action  and  racing  , 
Much  undertaking, 
Yet  ne'er  a  thing  making  ; 
Purposing  featly 
To  "break  as  completely  ! 
What  do  I  live  for  ? 
What  do  I  grieve  for  ? 


HALF  AWAKE.  95 

Millions  like  me  have  lived. 
Millions  like  me  have  grieved  ; 
Of  each  be  it  said 
That  earth  was  his  bed, 
And  there  he  lay  dreaming  : 
For  a  day,  however  it  seemed, 
He  dreamed ; — for  a  night,  he  dreamed  that  he 
dreamed. 


THE    WAY   APPOINTED. 

EASILY  moved,  easily  swayed 

Hither  and  thither, 
As  easily  hoping 

And  dismayed. 

Up  in  the  clouds — over  the  hill, 

Higher  and  higher, 
Down,  down  in  the  meadow, 

And  lower  still. 


THE   WAY   APPOINTED.  97 

Shadows  over  me,  far,  afar — 

Moving  and  moving — 
Dropping  my  eyelids, 

There  too  they  are. 

The  sun,  a  golden  key  I  win, 

Turning  and  turning, 
Opes  the  sweet  heavens 

v 

And  lets  me  in. 

Lovers,  'tis  true,  lovers  a  score  ; 

Sighing  and  sighing  ; 
One,  right  one,  were  better, 

Yet,  fate,  send  me  more. 

Friends  leave  me,  how,  I  cannot  tell ; 

Yearning  and  yearning, 
Others  rise  after, 

Loved  as  well. 
5 


THE    WAY    APPOINTED. 

In  blasted  hopes  new  ones  thrive  ; 

Joying  and  grieving, 
Ephemerals  wholly 

Help  me  to  live. 

Mother,  she  planned — Father  with  strife 

Planted  and  watered — 
For  what,  are  you  asking  ? 

To  fit  me  to  life. 

World,  said  I,  your  tasks  I  do  not  refuse  ; 

Take  me  and  try  me  ; 
Turn  me  and  mould  me, 

And  put  me  to  use. 

Millers  the  water,  sailors  the  wind  ; 

Headfull  and  heartfull — 
You  will  not  ?  dull  world,  you, — 

Then  go — never  mind. 


THE   WAY   APPOINTED.  99 

Vainly  I  veil — your  eyes  shoot  between  ; 

Fairly  and  frankly, 
I  am  a  maiden 

Turned  of  eighteen. 


KKISTEL'S   SOLILOQUY. 

MY  log  house  stands  by  the  riyer  : — 
Not  higher  than  the  topmost  swell 
At  the  vernal  flood  : — but  I  have  an  attic, 
And  over  it  stately  poplars  shiver, 
And  lend  me  twenty  arms  ecstatic 
To  lift  me  over  the  surge.     And  well, 
When  the  roaring  freshet  threatens,  I  know, 
And,  taking  my  meat  and  honey,  go 
Into  the  leafy  nook  above  ; 

• 

Whence  I  watch  the  river,  raving 

Up  from  its  yellow  depths,  and  the  broad 


KRISTEL'S   SOLILOQUY.  101 

Lagunas,  islanding  many  a  grove  ; 

And  if  the  waters  me  defraud 

Of  homestead  and  home,  and  turn  my  cabin 

Into  a  raft, — I  do  not  murmur 

More  than  a  thrush,  whose  nest  in  summer, 

A  twisted  branch  of  ash  displaces  ; 

For  are  there  not  a  million  places, 

And  leaves  in  the  wood  for  the  minstrel  free, 

And  a  million  logs  as  well  for  me  ? 

Such  is  my  manhood's  outer  shell. 

Over  many  a  flowery  swell 

I  follow  the  trail  to  hunter  dear. 

The  plain's  long-bearded  nobles  rear 

Their  ponderous  fronts,  and  snuff  with  doubt 

The  air  my  rifle  scatters  about. 

Whether  at  midnight  or  at  noon, 

At  the  hour  beloved  of  the  rising  moon, ' 

When  the  deer  come  forth  from  their  shady  lair, 

I  watch  by  the  licks,  or  in  the  dark 


102  KRISTEL'S  SOLILOQUY. 

Recesses  of  the  wilding  park. 

From  wood  and  field,  and  flood  and  air, 

Treasures  of  beauty  and  of  use 

My  lowliness  do  not  refuse. 

The  summer  robe  of  the  bison  falls 

In  shady  softness  down  my  walls  ; 

The  stag's  coat  hides  mine  earthen  floor  ; 

His  antlers,  branched  like  a  sapling  oak, 

Are  cornices  for  window  and  door. 

And  plumes  that  tropic  winds  have  strook, 

In  tapestry  of  varied  thought, 

By  hands  of  forest  maidens  wrought, 

Come  to'my  cabin,  without  strife 

To  live  again  in  a  human  life. 

And  yet  I  wage  no  needless  war  ; — 

No  wanton  hand  strikes  down  the  wing,  . 

Or  stays  upon  the  bended  plain 

The  bison's  stately  journeying. 

No  form  of  lowliest  grace  I  mar  ; 


KRISTEI/S   SOLILOQUY.  103 

Nor  in  the  forest's  wide  domain, 
Nor  in  my  garden's  round,  I  cull 
Aught  good,  or  sweet,  or  beautiful, 
But  all  the  more  to  dedicate 
To  service  pure  its  gentle  state. 

True,  in  a  corner  of  my  hut 

Is  a  little  shrine,  whereon  I  put 

Fresh-blooming  children  of  the  wood — 

Forget-me-not  and  the  solitude- 

Shunning  linneea.     Unto  the  same, 

I  consecrate  the  winged  flame 

Of  columbine,  and  that  which  stole 

The  innermost  secret  of  the  sky, 

The  water-lily's  vestal  soul, 

With  the  sweetness  in  the  clover  hived 

So  deep.     This  is  in  memory 

Of  one,  whose  love  my  love  outlived. 

And  so,  to  steep 

In  memory  all  that  I  should  keep, 


104  KEISTEL'S  SOLILOQUY. 

The  queen  magnolia  there  I  set, 
And  circle  it  with  low  mignonette. 
For  I  think  ofttimes,  altho'  her  sphere. 
Radiant  and  high,  I  come  not  near, 
Nor  ever  can  again — that  still 
If  I  surround  her  thought  with  love, 
And  evermore  a  patient  will 
To  watch,  to  strive,  to  wait  and  prove 
The  peace  heaven  offers,  to  the  end, — 
Out  of  my  pain  and  silent  strife,          . 
Some  fragrance  God  wiE  take,  and  blend 
An  unknown  sweetness  with  her  life. 

The  prairie  sways,  and  the  river  rolls, 

And  the  sun  and  the  moon — and  nothing  is  lost 

In  all  the  skies'  unmeasured  coast, 

Nothing  too  in  the  kingdom  of  souls. 

Broad  stream,  that  yieldest  silently 

Such  largess  to  the  noonday  sky, 

Hear  how  the  brooding  cushat  mourns 


KKISTEL'S  SOLILOQUY.  105 

Her  love.     We  will  not  mourn  or  weep, 
Or  lock  ourselves  in  wintry  sleep  ; 
But  bide  in  peace  heaven's  large  returns. 
All  that  he  has  and  is,  who  gives, 
With  whom  no  earth-born  wish  survives 
To  hoard  his  little  grief  or  bliss, 
God  his  great  debtor  surely  is, 
And  pays  infinity.     Who  meet 
The  coming  fate  half-way,  and  fling 
Their  blessed  treasures  at  her  feet, 
Shall  feel,  through  all  her  clamoring, 
Her  hard  eye  quail ;  she  knows  'twere  vain 
To  empty  what  God  brims  again. 

5* 


TWENTY-SECOND  OF  FEBRUARY. 

IN  bygone  days  when  we  were  weak, 

Some  strong  men  by  us  stood, 
Like  primary  rocks  to  front  the  storm 

And  buttress  the  infant  wood. 
Then  we  had  Adams,  and  Otis,  and  Lee, 

Then  we  had  Franklin  and  Jay, 
Then  we  had  Washington,  kingman  of  all ; 

Great  names — great  men  were  they. 

There  were  baby  truths  in  those  old  days, 
And  there  was  full-grown  wrong  ; 

They  smote  the  last  with  iron  blows, 
And  helped  the  babes  along. 


TWENTY-SECOND   OF   FEBKUAKY.  107 

Chivalrous  times  and  men  were  they — 

Hearts  of  the  grand  old  breed, 
Gaston  de  Foix,  and  the  Knight  sans  peur, 

And  Eoderiek  the  Cid  ! 

What  did  they  know  of  party  bribes  ? 

When  did  they  kneel  to  pelf  ? 
And  when  were  country,  and  man,  and  God 

Less  in  their  deeds  than  self  ? 
Were  the  mountains  taller  in  those  days  ? 

The  streams  more  swift  and  strong, 
That  they  caught  the  trick  of  a  nobler  grace 

And  of  a  manlier  tongue  ? 

Northern  aurora,  speed  your  light 

Into  our  skies'  cold  gray, 
Appeal  to  the  glad  to-morrow 

From  recreant  to-day  ! 
0  shame  this  backward-looking  glance, 

0  shame  this  paltry  fear, 


108  TWENTY-SECOND   OP    FEBRUARY. 

And  men  of  might,  be  men  of  faith, 
Far-eyed,  deep-eyed  and  clear  ! 

Valor  is  valor  over  the  world. 

Ah  !  do  not  think  to  gain 
The  hero's  glory  and  meed  of  praise, 

Without  his  wound  and  pain. 
'Mid  well-won  palms,  earth's  sovereigns  sit 

On  high  in  joyful  calm, 
But  a  bleeding  heart  is  in  each  one's  hand- 

A  heart  for  every  palm. 

Past  days, — past  men — but  present  still  ! 

Men  who  could  meet  the  hour  ; 
And  so  bore  fruit  for  every  age 

And  amaranthine  flower ; 
Who  proved  that  noble  deeds  are  faith, 

And  living  words  are  deeds  ; 
And  left  us  dreams  beyond  their  dreams — 

And  higher  hopes  and  needs. 


TWENTY-SECOND    OF    FEBRUARY.  109 

Not  often  great  in  name  or  place, — 

Great  but  to  think  and  dare, 
Some  steadfast  eyes  yet  look  to  truth, 

Some  steadfast  hearts  watch  there. 
And  when  they  speak  or  when  they  sing, 

Strange  music  seems  to  rise, 
But  the  angels  know  'tis  the  burthen  old 

Keturning  to  the  skies. 


CAMILLE. 

I  BORE  my  mystic  chalice  unto  earth, 

With  vintage  which  no  lips  of  hers  might  name 

Only  in  token  of  its  alien  birth, 

Love  crowned  it  with  his  soft,  immortal  flame  ; 

And  'mid  the  world's  wide  sound, 
Sacred  reserves  and  silences  breathed  round 
A  spell,  to  keep  it  pure  from  low  acclaim. 

With  joy  that  dulled^ me  to  the  touch  of  scorn, 

•-*?-    ^__ *-- I" 

I  served  :  not  knowing  that  of  all  life's  deeds, 
Service  was  first — nor  that  high  powers  are  born 


CAMILLE.  Ill 

In  humble  uses  ; — fragrance-folding  seeds 

Must  so  through  flowers  expand, 
Then  die  : — God  witness  that  I  blest  the  Hand 
Which  laid  upon  my  heart  such  golden  needs ! 

s  And  yet  I  felt  through  all  the  blind,  sweet  ways 
Of  life,  for  some  clear  shape  its  dreams  to  blend  ; 

Some  thread  of  holy  art  to  knit  the  days 

/ 

Each  unto  each,  and  all  to  some  fair  end, 
Which  through  unmarked  removes, 
Should  draw  me  upward,  even  as  it  behooves 
One  whose  deep  spring-tides  from  His  heart  descend. 

To  swell  some  vast  refrain  beyond  the  sun, 
The  very  weed  breathed  music  from  its  sod  : 

And  Night  and  Day  in  ceaseless  antiphon, 

Kolled  off  through  windless  arches  in  the  broad 

Abyss. — Thou  saw'st  I  too 
Would  in  my  place  have  blent  accord  as  true, 
And  justified  this  great  enshrining,  God  ! 


112  CAMILLE. 

Dreams  ! — Stain  it  on  the  bending  amethyst, 
That  one  who  came  with  visions  of  the  Piime 

For  guide,  somehow  her  radiant  pathway  missed, 
And  wandered  in  the  darkest  gulf  of  Time  ! 

No  deed  divine,  thenceforth, 
Stood  royal  in  its  far-related  worth — 
No  God,  in  truth,  might  heal  the  wounded  chime. 

0  how  ?  I  darkly  ask. — And  if  I  dare 

Take  up  a  thought  from  this  tumultuous  street 
To  the  forgotten  Silence,  soaring  there 

Above  the  hiving  roofs,  its  calm  depths  meet 

My  glance  with  no  reply. 
Might  I  go  back  and  spell  this  mystery 
In  that  new  stillness  at  my  mother's  feet  ! 

1  would  recall  with  importunings  long 

Her  so  sad  soul,  once  pierced  as  with  a  knife  ; 
And  cry,  Forgive  !    0  think,  youth's  tide  was  strong, 
And  the  full  torrent,  shut  from  brain  and  life, 


CAMILLE.  113 

Plunged  through  the  heart,  until 
It  rocked  to  madness,  and  the  o'erstrained  will 
Grew  wild,  then  weak,  in  the  despairing  strife. 

And  ever  I  think,  What  warning  voice  should  call, 
Or  show  me  bane  from  food,  with  tedious  art, 

When  love,  the  perfect  instinct,  flower  of  all 
Divinest  potencies  of  choice,  whose  part 

Was  set  'mid  stars  and  flame, 
To  keep  the  inner  place  of  God,  became 
A  blind  and  ravening  fever  of  the  heart  ! 

I  laugh  with  scorn  that  men  should  think  them  praised 
In  women's  love  ; — chance-flung  in  weary  hours, 

By  sickly  fire  to  bloated  worship  raised  ! 

0  dream  long-lost,  so  sweet  of  vernal  flowers  !— 

Wherein  I  stood,  it  seemed, 
And  gave  a  gift  of  queenly  mark  ; — I  dreamed 
Of  passion's  joy  aglow  in  rounded  powers. 


114  CAMILLE. 

I  dreamed  !    The  roar,  the  tramp,  the  burthened  air 
Pour  round  their  sharp  and  subtle  mockery. 

Here  go  the  eager-footed  men — and  there 
The  costly  beggars  of  the  world  float  by, 

Lilies  that  toil  nor  spin — 
How  should  they  know  so  well  the  weft  of  sin, 
And  hide  me  from  them  with  such  sudden  eye  ? 

But  all  the  roaring  crowd  begins  to  make 

A  whirl  of  humming  shade  : — for  since  the  day 

Is  done,  and  there's  no  lower  step  to  take, 

Life  drops  me  here.     Some  rough,  kind  hand  I  pray, 

Thrust  the  sad  wreck  aside, 
And  shut  the  door  on  it  !  a  little  pride, 
That  I  may  not  offend  who  pass  this  way  ! 

And  this  is  all  !  0,  thou  wilt  yet  give  heed  ! 

No  soul  but  trusts  some  late,  redeeming  care — 
But  walks  the  narrow  plank  with  bitter  speed, 

And,  straining  through  the  sweeping  mist  of  air, 


CAMILLE.  115 

In  the  great  tempest-call, 
And  greater  silence  deep'ning  through  it  all, 
Kefuses  still,  refuses  to  despair. 

• 
Some  further  end — whence  thou  refitt'st  with  aim 

Bewildered  souls  perhaps — ?     Some  breath  in  me, 
By  thee,  the  purest,  found  devoid  of  blame, 
Fit  for  large  teaching — ?     Look,  I  cannot  see, 

I  can  but  feel !— Far  off, 

Life  seethes  and  frets,  and  from  its  shame  and  scoff, 
I  take  my  broken  crystal  up  to  Thee. 


ARIADNE. 

SHAME  on  these  tears  !  disown  them,  lofty  heart ! 
On  this  bald  peak  where  now  I  stand  alone. 
Like  some  poor  weed,  sea-driven  and  flung  apart, 
Bear  witness  all  ye  Grods,  that  I  disown 
Their  traitorous  record  ! — Yet  nay,  let  them  run 
Into  the  deep-mouthed  wave — and  take  along 
Memories  I  want  no  more  ; — soft,  rustling  throng 
Of  old,  untold  delights,  pass,  every  one  ! 
With  empty  arms  outstretched,  I  cry,  0  sea, 
That  took  so  much,  take  these  ! — see  there  !  I  fling 
The  clinging  warmth  of  that  first  kiss  to  thee, 
The  pulses'  lingering  lightnings,  that  they  bring 


AKIADNE.  11 

Unto  this  bitter,  burning  soul  no  more 
The  wild  renewal  of  that  past  delight, 
When  love  sprang  sudden  to  its  perfect  height, 
Unfolded  sweet,  yet  fearful,  like  a  flower 

• 

'Neath  the  mute  throbbings  of  the  conscious  night ! 

Pass,  pass,  as  ravings  of  a  drunken  soul  ! 

Yet,  Gods,  who  rule  this  empty,  awful  world, 

Who  mete  to  highest  and  meanest  things  their  dole, 

Ye  know  no  sight  more  fearful  than  one  hurled 

From  some  great  joy  into  a  doom  of  pain 

O'er-deep  for  fathoming — no  sight  save  this, 

Of  a  proud  heart  that  flings  away  all  bliss 

Of  hope  or  memory  ;  nor  asks  again 

The  friendly  shadow  of  some  little  grief, 

Or  some  sharp  pang,  its  numbness  to  o'erbear, 

But  lightning-proof  and  desolate,  a  leaf 

Left  living  and  alone  in  wintry  air, 

Meets  feelingless  and  dumb  the  evil  wind, 

Nor  cares  what  woes  are  laboring  up  behind. 


118  AEIADNE. 

Still,  still  a  sickening  sense  creeps  o'er  me.     Still, 
0  Tethys,  whose  mad  daughters,  every  one, 
Clap  their  white  hands  above  the  waters  dun, 
My  heart  is  like  thy  waves,  that  proudly  fill 
And  roar,  yet  bound  and  break  when  all  is  done. 
Speed,  bitter  droppings,  to  the  bitter  sea  ! 
All  worthiness  is  gone,  all  memory 
Of  truth,  and  nobleness,  and  charity  ! 
And  I,  alone,  and  pressed  by  this  great  void, 
Bend  shameless  to  the  earth  with  unalloyed 
And  boundless  wretchedness.     I  am  no  more 
Than  a  dull  snail  left  houseless  on  the  shore. 
Hide  me,  0  pitying  Gods  !    Ay,  let  me  find 
Some  wind-wrung  peak  or  cataract-gated  cave, 
Whose  thunderous  roof  through  the  dread  years  shall 

bind 

These  throbs  to  silence  ! — This,  0  fearful  Powers, 
That  send  the  black,  inexplicable  hours, 
This,  or  the  dear  and  all-forgetting  grave  ! 


SIESTA. 

THE  old  apple  tree, 

Noblest  on  the  hill — 
Takes  me-inits  arms  ; 
There  I  lie  a-dreaming, 
Dreaming  at  my  will. 

Birds  and  birdlings  chirping, 
Think  not  I  am  there — 

While  they  trill  wild  notes, 
Think  not  of  my  dreaming 
In  the  scented  air. 


120  SIESTA. 

(Pray  you  do  not  mark  ! 

I  pray  you  shut  the  doors 
On  your  fine  brains — he  sure 
"Pis  only  foolish  dreaming, 

Unfit  for  wits  like  yours.) 

Leaves  glance  light  above — 
Boughs  beneath  me  yield, 

Moving  like  long  waves, 
Or  golden  rye  a-dreaming 
On  a  July  field. 

My  eyelids  softly  closing, 
Earer  sights  I  see  ; 

While  all  the  outer  music, 
All  the  gay  leaves'  dreaming 
Seem  to  follow  me. 

Feeling,  scarcely  thought, 
Old  sweet  grief  and  mirth, 


SIESTA.  121 

Like  gold  fruit  are  hanging, 
'Mid  green  boughs  of  my  dreaming, 
Far  above  the  earth. 

Hope  and  bird-eyed  fancy 

Midway  chirp  and  sing  ; 
A  rainbowed  mist  of  music — 
A  hum  of  cherubs'  dreaming — 

The  sound  of  blossoming. 

Peace,  a  deeper  peace — 

Joy,  a  fuller  tide, 
Like  swans  on  glassy  waves 
Come  gliding  down  my  dreaming, 
Gently  side  by  side. 

Say  you,  little  wren, 

That  our  life  of  mirth 
Distances  a  king's, 
As  the  sky  in  azure  dreaming 

Distances  the  earth  ? 
6 


122  SIESTA. 

Well  said  ! — Noisy  world, 
Custom's  weedy  throng, 

Here  I  give  the  go-by — 
For  they  match  not  in  my  dreaming 
With  your  wing  and  song. 

Hearken,  little  bird  ! 

When  God,  round  your  heart 
Laid  those  mottled  wings, 
He  gave  you  heavenly  dreaming 

For  your  life-long  part. 

I,  my  wild  translator 

Of  that  upper  bliss, 
On  my  doubtful  pinions, 
Fanned  through  some  strange  dreaming, 

Ere  a  dream  like  this. 


THE   CRICKET    TO   OCTOBEE. 

THE  long,  pure  light,  that  brings 
To  earth  her  perfect  crown  of  bliss, 
Wanes  slow — the  thoughtful  drooping  of  the  grain, 
And  the  faint  breath  of  the  earth-loving  things 
Say  this. 

Oft  when  the  dews  at  night 
Clasp  the  cool  shadows,  all  in  vain, 
I  look  along  the  meadows  level  dark 
To  see  the  fire-fly  lift  her  tender  light 
Again. 


124         THE  CRICKET  TO  OCTOBER. 

From  the  thick-woven  shade, 
Where,  on  the  red-cupped  moss  to-day, 
A  crimson  ray  alit,  the  blue-bird  sends 
One  melancholy  note  up  the  brown  glade 
This  way. 

Last  night,  I  saw  an  eft 
Crawl  to  the  worm's  forsaken  bier, 
To  die  there,  as  I  think  : — beetle  nor  bee, 
Nor  the  ephemera's  ethereal  weft 
Sport  here. 

Yet  great  has  been  life's  zest. 
Almost  how  the  grass  grows,  I  know, — 
And  the  ant  sleeps  ;  the  busy  summer  long, 
I  have  kept  the  secret  of  the  ground-bird's  nest 
Below. 

But  sweeter  my  employ 
In  some  still  hours.     I  seem  to  live 


THE  CRICKET  TO  OCTOBER.          125 

Too  near  the  beating  of  earth's  mighty  heart, 
Not  to  have  learned  in  part  how  she  can  joy 
And  grieve  ! 

'Twas  on  a  night  last  June, 
Into  the  clear,  bold  sky, 

The  little  stars  stole  each  with  separate  thrill, 
And  the  mossed  fir-top  woke  its  mystic  rune 
Close  by. 

Upon  yon  westering  slope, 
Two  glorious  human  shapes  there  stood, 
Rosy  with  twilight,  listening  to  my  song : 
I  knew  I  sang  to  them  of  love  and  hope, 
Life's  good. 

The  little  stars'  soft  rays 
Again  thrill  through  their  realm  of  peace  ; 
One  shadow  haunts  the  slope, — a  song  I  sing 
To  match  the  broken  music  of  her  days — 
Then  cease. 


DIM  Eden  of  delight, 

In  whom  my  heart  springs  upward  like  a  palm  ; 
Loving  your  morning  strength,  your  evening  calm, 

Your  star-inspired  Night — 
A  sweeter  breath  blows  upward  from  the  sea, 
Like  a  fresh  hope  from  God's  eternity  ; — 

Latest  and  best,  are  you  then  coming  ? 

Nay — shadow  is  not  here  ; 
Save  of  the  rocks  upon  the  gleaming  sands, 
And  that  which  moves  beside  me  with  clasped  hands, 


127 


A  suffering  shadow,  drear 

With  watching,  it  would  seem,  the  endless  swell, 
Great,  white-faced  waves,  sent  ceaselessly  to  quell 

The  stern  and  silent  shore  with  thunder. 


TEMUR. 

WHEN  Temur,  chief  of  Omars,  died, 
God's  angels  bore  his  soul  away 

Unto  full-flowered  Paradise  : — 
There,  as  the  Persian  prophets  say, 
No  flower  shall  feel  decay — 
Perpetual  are  the  splendid  skies. 

But  Temur  was  a  tyrant  fell : 
And  Seyd,  whose  fair  first-born  had  known 

The  terrors  of  the  Despot's  sway, 
Murmured,  as  on  his  eyelids  shone 

Eays  from  the  burning  throne, 
Whitherward  oped  the  angel's  way. 


TEMUE.  129 

But  God,  the  just,  who  now  and  then 
Speaks  in  the  soul's  emphatic  dream, 

Took  Seyd  the  murmurer,  that  night, 
And  led  him  to  Kur's  wakeful  stream, 
Which  lay  in  the  moon's  beam, 
Blooming  with  lilies  of  her  light. 

There  curved  the  mountain  line  away  ; 
And  there,  the  murmuring  lapse  of  blue 

Let  in  between  green  silences, 
To  ripple  the  level  smoothness  through  ; — 

And  'mid  soft  light  and  dew, 
Temur's  hushed  palace  rose  into  the  skies. 

What  life  in  every  peaceful  thing  ! 
What  trance  of  living,  joyful  might ! 

The  heavens  may  breathe  it  unto  men, 
And  bulbuls  by  the  charmed  light 
Sing  it  to  sacred  night, 

But  who  may  utter  it  again  ? 
6* 


130  TEMUK. 

Seyd  saw  the  open,  blooming  heaven  ; 
And  the  rich  well-springs  of  the  air 

Freshening  the  overburthened  world  ; 
And  o'er  dark  brows  of  guilt  and  care, 

The  intermitted  peace — God's  fair, 
Soft-visioned  Night  of  night  unfurled. 
»     .j  * 

^V  1^ 

x  '  s   "~^~~- 

„.    "  All  Beauty  is  of  God  the  good  ; 

Ng 

Yon  scarf  of  stars  his  angels  wove, 

_  And  earth  is  sweet  of  Paradise  ; " 
He  mused  ; — "  0  wretch,  that  would'st  remove 

Aught  from  his  saving  love, 
Or  stint  his  patient  ministries  ! " 


THE  WILD  PLUM  TREE. 

You  should  have  seen  it,  sire  ;  a  vicious  thing, 
Knotting  defiance  in  its  crabbed  twigs, 
And  arguing  with  full  fifty  bitter  leagues 

Of  sea-winds  maddening  on  a  rocky  shore. 

No  wonder  !  well,  half-doubting  I  uptore 
And  bore  it  inland — doubting,  set  it  here, 
Where  it  might  feel  the  garden's  warmth  and  cheer, 

And  only  heaven's  forbearing  winds  might  come. 


132  THE  WILD  PLUM  TKEE. 

Only  its  attic  vigor  to  maintain, 
I  fed  it  each  quick-blooded  spring 
•With  salt  to  thirsting,  and  it  grew,  my  king, 

Straightened,  and  bloomed,  as  never  plum  before. 

Here  is  the  fruit.     So  please  you,  taste  and  see 
How  nature  straight  replies  to  such  a  call ; — 
And  yonder  has  my  plum,  beneath  the  wall, 

The  warm  earth  colonized  with  fruitful  trees. 


KAPHAEL  MENGS  AND  HIS  "HOLY 
FAMILY." 

So  reverently  he  treads 

This  home  where  heaven  is, 

That  you  the  steps  might  hear 

Of  the  very  angels  near, 
Almost  as  soon  as  his. 

Pure  breathing  of  a  soul 

Whose  depths  we  only  guess, 
Since  unto  it  was  given 
To  know  so  much  of  heaven, 

So  much  he  could  express  ! 


134      RAPHAEL    MENGS   AND    HIS    "  HOLY    FAMILY.' 

Gazing,  the  old  ideal, 

Paler,  more  rapt  and  still. 
With  sadly  wondering  eyes, 
Just  dips  from  her  far  skies, 

And  shames  my  laggard  will. 

Humility  and  love, 

Perfume  of  lowliest  sod — 
I  yet  can  think  that  they 
Winged  our  close  world  one  day, 

And  went  untouched  to  God. 


SEASIDE. 

Go  wear  your  tortured  smile  ;  speak  and  say  nought  ; 

Be  laughed  at  by  your  diamonds — I  prefer 
My  light,  loose  garb — freedom  of  face  and  thought. 

And  this  uncompromising  thunderer. 

What  do  I  where  you  mince  and  compliment, 
And  meet  to  hide  the  better,  and  deny 

The  deeper  life  within  you  ? — I  was  sent 
To  live  at  least  in  simple  verity. 


136  SEASIDE. 

For  your  poor,  famished  lives  of  ostentation, 

What  victims  bleed  of  which  you  never  recked  ! 

The  yearning  heart  of  love — the  aspiration 
Which  makes  us  royal,  the  sweet  self-respect. 

But  ah  !  I  know  the  lonely  hour  will  find  you 
Sincere  once  more  ;  to-night  doth  sadness  wait 

To  fold  you  in  her  purple,  and  remind  you 
Of  your  dead  strength,  your  regal,  lost  estate. 


THE  GKAVE-DIGGEK. 

As  pleasant  a  man  as  you  would  see, 
Native  or  foreign,  to  vouch  I  dare  ; 

His  laugh,  was  hoarse  but  full  of  glee, 
Indifferent  when  or  where. 

But  most  in  graves  the  old  man  kept 

His  singular  jubilee  ; 
He  roared  at  what  most  others  wept ; 

His  life  was  a  funeral  glee. 


138  THE    GEAVE-DIGGEE. 

He  had  no  rival  in  his  trade  : 

He  knew,  one  after  another, 
All  the  village  would  need  his  axe  and  spade, 

And  troubled  himself  no  further. 

His  love  and  duty  were  never  at  strife — 

His  charity  looked  to  all ; 
He  seemed  to  think  his  lease  on  life 

Long  as  death  held  carnival. 

He  reasoned,  "  Well,  'tis  nature's  creed 
And  man's  chief  want — is  burial." 

The  friend  of  the  world  in  its  sorest  need, 
Could  the  world  then  spare  him  well  ? 


EPITAPH 

INSCRIBED    TO    RICHARD,    WHO     LOVES     NOT    THE     SUB- 
JECT. 

HERE  lies, 

(Speak  softly,)  one  who  dropped  away 
As  a  ripe  berry  from  the  spray ; 
She  ended  nine  lives  in  a  day. 

Just  at  the  sunset,  as  a  spark 
Winked  by  the  firelight,  did  her  bark 
Put  forth  into  .the  unknown  dark. 


140  EPITAPH. 

She  had  no  kin  to  stay  her  breath  ; 

As  lonely  traveller  hasteneth, 

She  swam  for  life  the  moat  of  death. 

All  musings  of  the  fireside  born, 
All  love,  all  fear  of  hate  and  scorn, 
The  rose  of  life  and  its  sharp  thorn, 

These  have  exhaled  ;  in  dumbest  show 
'Twas  willed  the  curious  life  should  blow, 
And,  having  blossomed,  should  pass  so. 

Ah,  not  unkindly  does  the  grave 
Shut  out  earth's  sunlight,  if  it  have 
The  power  to  ripen  and  to  save. 

But  you,  0  cat  of  many  years, 

When  the  inevitable  shears 

Cut  off  your  thread  of  hopes  and  fears, 


EPITAPH.  141 

Tell  us,  what  hope  could  love  supply  ? 
What  page  of  drear  philosophy 
Would  say  thou  didst  not  vainly  die  ? 

"  As  the  beast  dieth,"  holy  writ 
Eemorselessly  hath  worded  it, 
And  so  constrains  our  feeble  wit. 

Poor  beasts  !  in  mild  Chaldaic  lore, 
When  shepherds  watched  on  starlit  moor, 
Your  destiny  was  not  so  poor. 

Great  Nature  to  her  open  feast 
Gave  welcome  wide,  the  highest  guest 
Had  common  birthright  with  the  least. 

To  live  to  die  !  it  could  not  be  ; 

« 

Birthright  was  immortality  : 

Yea,  what  was  born  could  never  die. 


142  EPITAPH. 

Alas,  what  better  faith  have  we  ? 
What  light  of  heaven  shines  tenderly 
On  this  dark  web  of  mystery  ? 

What  shall  we  say  of  what  was  here  ? 
A  thing  that  held  its  life  as  dear 
As  one  of  us,  in  hope  and  fear. 

Dumbly  it  asked  for  human  care  ; 

A  little  love,  that  it  might  bear 

The  ills  and  pains  it  could  not  share  ; 

Some  patience  for  misdoings  small ; 
For  dulness,  ignorance,  and  all 
That  made  it  a  dependent  thrall 

On  human  kind-     Perhaps  not  dumb, 
(Nay,  Kichard  !)  in  new  guise  shall  come 
Into  the  spirit's  older  home, 


EPITAPH.  143 

This  poor  dependent  of  our  hearth, 
Linked  with  old  scenes  of  peace  and  mirth, 
Or  cruelty,  and  pain,  and  the  bleak  earth. 


MEMORY. 

A  THING  that  glideth  about 
When  the  stars  are  in  and  the  sun  is  out  ; 

Escaping  and  cheating  the  eye 
That  seeketh  it  out  most  anxiously  ; 
Yet  when  the  night-shades  fall, 

And  the  work  of  the  day  is  done, 
Ever  it  trippeth  home 

By  the  light  of  the  evening  sun. 


DOMINIQUE. 

A  SWEET  hope  fluttering  at  my  heart 

Seems  oftener  like  despair, 
A  treasure,  never  yet  confessed, 
Turns  fair  to  foul,  and  foul  to  fair. 

Because  I  may  not  hope  this  hope, 

This  feeling  may  not  feel, 
Its  joy  has  boundless  aim  and  scope, 

Its  fiery  pain  no  touch  can  heal. 

7 


146  DOMINIQUE. 

Gather  rne  roses  with  the  thorn, 
And  berries  with  the  bane  ; 

Blend  into  one  the  night  and  morn, 
Blend  summer's  sun  with  wintry  rain  ; 

Yet  these  are  never  like  the  woe, 

The  treasure  I  conceal ; 
All  bleak,  all  dark,  all  bane,  all  thorn  ; 

My  fiery  ill  is  all  my  weal. 


SONNETS. 

NIGHT. 
I. 

0  CALMLY,  lovingly,  Night,  vast  and  deep, 

Bend  round  the  breathing  world  !     Thou  cool-browed 

wife 

Of  fiery  Day — he,  stirrer  of  old  strife, 
Thou,  soother,  mother,  in  whose  heart  we  keep 
A  hiding-place  to  dream,  to  hope,  to  weep  ! 
Who  still  exhalest  in  the  purple  sky, 
The  old  star-bloom  of  immortality, 
Wreathing  our  momentariness  and  sleep 
With  dignity  so  sweet  and  sovereign  ! 
Happy  the  earth  to  kiss  thy  broidered  hern  ! 
Her  weak  and  flagging  aspirations  take 
New  pinions  in  thy  shadows  ;  thou  dost  make 
Love  deeper  bliss,  and  even  care  and  pain 
Are  great  and  worthy,  since  thou  touchest  them. 


148  NIGHT. 


II. 


THOU  seem'st  to  solve  the  eternal  unity 

That  holds  us  all.     How  far,  and  dim,  and  deep, 

Bathed  in  the  separate  sanctity  of  sleep — 

Lost  in  thy  wide  forgetting  do  we  lie  ! 

0,  lest  that  dim  abyss,  where  Memory 

Beats  her  disabled  wing,  and  hope  is  not, 

Point  to  yet  wilder  deeps,  unearth  our  thought 

In  thy  far  glances  !     Through  the  serene  sky, 

When  Day  from  the  impurpled  hills  furls  up, 

And  heaven's  white  limits  fail,  the  Infinite, 

Long  crushed  within,  breathes  forth  its  mystic  pain 

From  vast  of  height,  and  depth,  and  silence,  stoop, 

And  lift  with  mystic  faith  its  brow  again, — 

Call  unto  peace  the  eternal  child,  dear  Night  ! 


NIGHT.  14(J 


III. 


DARKNESS  surrounds  me  with  its  phantom  hosts. 

Till  silence  is  enchanted  speech.     I  feel 

Those  half-spent  airs  that  through  the  laurel  reel, 

And  Night's  loud  heart-beats  in  the  tropic  coasts,- 

And,  soaring  amid  everlasting  frosts, 

To  super- sensual  rest,  as  it  might  outweigh 

A  whole  world's  strife,  o'er  me  gaunt  Himaleh 

Droops  his  broad  wing  of  calm. — Those  peaks, 

ghosts 

Outstaring  Time,  through  darkness  glimmering  ! 
No  rush  of  pinion  there,  nor  bubbling  low — 
But  death,  and  silence  past  imagining  ; — 
Only,  day  in  and  out,  with  endless  swing, 
Their  aged  shadows  move,  and  picture  slow 
One  on  another's  unrelenting  snow. 


150  NIGHT. 


IV. 


0  HIGH-BORN  souls,  such  as  God  sends  to  mould 
His  ages  in — and  you  too,  who  have  known 
The  pang  of  strife,  and  are  at  last  at  one 
With  nature  so, — yea,  all  who  have  made  bold 
Our  timid  dreams,  and  proffered  to  the  hold 

A  certain  joy — come  mingle  in  life's  cope 
Star-fields  of  verity  and  stable  hope. 
With  these  swift  meteors  and  illusions  old  ! 

1  sent  this  summons  through  the  deeps  of  June, 
When  life  surged  up  so  warm  and  affluent, 

It  wrapt  the  very  whiteness  of  the  moon ; — 
No  wonder  many  came — they  came  and  went — 
And  thou,  who  sleep'st  half  sad  and  wak'st  with  pain, 
Thou  earnest  too  and  dost  alone  remain. 


NIGHT.  151 


V. 


So  reed-like  fragile,  in  the  world's  whirl  nought, 

Beggared  in  earthly  hope,  alone  and  b'are, — 

Heart  pierced,  wings  clipped,  feet  bound,  but  grandly 

there, 
Ay  and  with  odds  'gainst  Fate,  thou  standest,  fraught 

• 

With  courage  to  know  all  ! — Thus  is  thy  lot 
Worlds  deep  beneath  thee. — Lovest  thou  that  keen 

air  ? 

Thou  ask'st  not  hope,  nor  may  the  falsely  fair 
Approach  thy  clear  integrity  of  thought. 
Such  power,  what  shall  we  call  it  ?     For  this  time, 
Not  love,  nor  yet  faith  ;  but  Eternity 
Dilating  the  mean  Day, — the  spirit,  free 
And  self-reliant,  from  its  purer  clime 
Overruling  earth,  by  spirit-law  sublime — 
GOD  cleaving  for  thee  the  remorseless  sea. 


152         .  NIGHT. 


VI. 


OF  better  fortune  coming,  then,  talk  not, 

Thou  teachest,  and  think  not : — nay,  rather  dare 

The  utmost  of  the  world's  ill  strength,  despair. 

Take  up  with  courage  the  unlovely  lot, 

And  it  shall  grow  in  thy  familiar  thought 

To  beauty. — Dumb  sorrows  that  the  life-strings  wear, 

And  stings — the  points  of  broken  trust,  and  care, 

And  those  hot,  random  arrows,  whose  keen  shot 

Must  find  thine  or  another  heart,  shall  all 

Be  rounded  in  the  sweet  and  ample  sky 

Of  the  enfranchised  soul.     Eternity 

Shall  come  home  to  the  hour. — Thou  didst  not  call 

Light,  light — heaven,  heaven — till  now,  when  not  a 

thrall, 
But  king  thou  art — yea,  free,  forever  free. 


NIGHT.  153 


VII. 


IN  the  still  "hours,  a  stiller  strength  was  born 
Deep  in  my  heart. — It  was  no  selfish  dream, 
Nor  even  hope,  with  far  and  tender  beam, 
To  make  me  for  the  moment  less  forlorn  : 
Nor  was  it  child  of  will,  before  the  morn 
To  dream  itself  away.     With  life  dismayed, 
God  help  me,  0  God  help  me  ! — so  I  prayed  ;- 
A  simple  prayer,  but  winning  swift  return  ; 
A  hand,  that  raised  all  gently  from  the  dust, 
And  led  me  childlike  on,  beyond  the  strife 
Of  vulgar  aims,  past  anguish  and  distrust, 
And  the  pale  warders  of  our  daily  life, 
To  where  God  binds  above  our  harvest  sun, 
All  fragmentary  being  in  his  one. 


154  NIGHT. 


VIII. 


STOOP  low,  dear  Night,  a  little  star-breeze  wakes 
The  solemn  pines. — Child-love  doth  come  and  pass; 
And  when  'tis  gone,  how  beautiful  it  was 
We  know.     "  Thou  art  like  this   dear  Night,  that 

shakes 

Her  long  hair  down,  and  sits  star-throned  in  lakes 
And  loving  seas,"  he  said — forgive  the  boy  ! 
"  And  you  are  gold-tressed  Day,  the  sun-flower's  joy, 
Each  each  pursues — but  neither  overtakes." 
"  0  dull  astronomer,  do  not  these  two 
Mingle  at  dawn  and  even  with  lovely  grace, 
Till  one  for  joy  dies  in  the  long  embrace  ?  " 
Experimental  science  is  sole  true  ; 
And  like  those  twilights  'mid  the  arctic  snows, 
The  dusk  and  fair  blent  sweet  on  cheeks  and  brows. 


NIGHT.  155 


IX. 


0  NIGHT,  a  terrible  dismay  still  lurks 
In  thy  close  caves.     Is  there  another  grief 
Than  mine  upon  my  soul,  or  spectral  leaf 
In  the  great  record  of  the  years,  where  works, 
Not  dreams,  find  place — a  task  declined 
Which  the  wise  heavens  appointed  for  my  own 
Nay,  or  a  haunting  memory  to  strike  down 
The  future's  open  hand  ; — then,  down  the  wind 
With  sadly  human  eyes,  but  fanged  like  wolves, 
The  pale  Erinnyes  sweep.     0  happy,  then, 
If  I  with  night-long  prayer  may  win  again 
Lost  faith — faith  in  Eternity  that  solves 
Time's  stoniest  spectres — faith  in  the  broad 
Serenity  of  things — yes,  faith  in  the  good  God  ! 


156  NIGHT. 


X. 


WHEN  my  friend  went,  half-stunned,  I  thought, 
Great  God,  what  then  has  fallen  from  me?     Power 

to  feel 

The  sun,  after  the  three  days'  storm — to  kneel 
Before  the  sacred  presence  in  the  wood, 
Or  by  the  throbbing  sea — to  shun  the  brood 
Of  slave-besetting  ills  ?     But  more,  more  went. 
I  did  not  know,  the  fearful  bow  once  bent, 
What  arrows  it  could  send  : — still,  all  is  good  ; 
What  am  I,  God,  to  say3  spare  this  and  this  ? 
The  rain-drop  moulds  a  world.     Turning,  I  knew 
Thy  pulse  in  one  still,  patient  love,  that  drew 
Me  sweetly  upward  ever,  like  a  kiss  ; 
Like  him,  who,  sinking  in  his  lonely  hour, 
Found  heaven  within  the  desert's  single  flower. 


NIGHT.  157 


XI. 


WITHIN  my  life  another  life  runs  deep, 
To  which,  at  blessed  seasons,  open  wide 
Silent,  mysterious  portals.     There  reside 
These  shapes,  that  cautiously  about  me  creep, 
This  iron  mask  of  birth,  and  death,  and  sleep, 
Familiar  as  the  day  and  open-eyed  ; 
And  there,  broods  endless  calm.     And  though  it  glide 
Ofttimes  beyond  my  signt,  and  though  I  keep 
Its  voice  no  more,  I  know  the  current  flows 
Pulsing  to  far-off  harmonies,  and  light 
With  most  unearthly  heavens.     The  world  but  throws 
A  passing  spell  thereon — as  winter,  bright, 
Pale  feudatory  of  the  arctic  Night, 
Swathes   with  white   silence   all  these   murmurous 
boughs. 


158  NIGHT. 


XII. 


YET  are  there  sunbeams,  though  the  kingly  sun 

Keveal  not  his  full  eye  ;  yet  flowers,  to  "bear 

Mute  witness  of  the  Heart  that  keeps  the  year, 

Through  all  its  wintry  chill  ;  and  I  have  won, 

Where  was  no  face  nor  voice,  a  glance,  a  tone, 

A  spirit,  call  it,  that  all  shapes  doth  wear, 

And  brings  me  knowledge  wrhich  I  scarcely  dare 

Call  mine.     Now,  out  of  grief  it  sings  ;  anon, 

It  calls  me  in  another's  deed  or  word. 

Capricious  is  the  sprite,  and  now  will  herd 

With  common  things,  now  wing  me  wind- warm  cheer 

From  far-off  times  and  climates  happier, 

And  when  from  distant  fields  I  call  the  bird, 

A  quiet  chirp  proclaims  it  nested  here. 


NIGHT.  159 


XIII. 


I  KNOW  this  spirit  bridges  unknown  space 

And  half-forgotten  centuries,  that  I 

May  know  I  am  of  royal  family, 

And  live  to  my  high  birth.     The  marble  face 

Of  Destiny  grows  fluent,  as  I  trace 

These  arteries  of  broad  being.    I  can  wait 

More  years  than  earth  allots  me,  for  my  state 

Is  not  of  time  :  nor  binds  me  any  place, 

Since  on  and  on  the  mazy  current  tends, 

That  takes  my  little  thread,  a  breath  might  sever, 

To  mingle  it  with  universal  ends  ; — 

And  tho'  I  fail  and  fall,  yet  am  I  still 

Most  strong  ;  since  every  high,  tho'  balked  endeavor, 

God  intertwines  with  his  eternal  will. 


160  NIGHT. 


XIV. 


ALAS  !  and  yesterniglit  I  woke  in  terror, 

Crying,  Great  God,  what  awful  shadows  press 

Around  us  from  this  dreary  nothingness 

Of  death,  and  life's  old,  eaverned  glooms  of  error  ! 

Are  we  immortal,  Father,  are  we  dearer 

To  thee  than  common  dust  ?     "  Thou  art  but  one 

Of  this  dense  throng,  through  time  still  hastening  on  ; 

Thy  blood  with  theirs  is  warm/'  my  good  Familiar 

Said  softly  unto  me, — "  how  canst  thou  slake 

Thy  thirst  when  their  lips  parch,  or  rightly  see 

With  twilight  misting  round  thee  ?     Dearest,  wake  ! 

Thy  brethren  are  not  saved  except  in  thee  ; 

Nor  thou,  save  in  their  health,  their  joy,  their  sight, 

Hast  any  lasting  peace,  or  heavenly  light." 


NIGHT.  161 


XV. 


0  MANKIND'S  God  !  most  silent  and  most  lowly 
Is  wisdom's  entrance  to  our  hearts  ;  with  less 
Of  conscious  power,  than  self-forgetfulness 
And  an  enduring  patience  !     Though  most  slowly, 
Thou  winn'st  us  by  such  lovely  paths  to  know  thee, 
And  the  immortal  life  that  from  thee  flows. 
But  if  thy  mild  lure  fail,  come  untold  woes, 
Doubt,  pain,  and  learning's  poor,  convicted  folly, 
To  make  self  bitter,  and  compel  us  forth. 
We  live  not  in  a  part  ;  our  prophecies 
Are  infant  wailings — wailing  of  the  earth  ! 
Only  the  ocean  matches  the  great  skies — 
Only  the  infinite  of  love  and  ruth 
deceives  the  living  infinite  of  truth. 


THE  FUGITIVE-SLAVE-BILL. 

DEAR  God,  who  art  so  very  calm — 
All-seeing  and  so  patient  still, 
Fill  me  with  calm  before  thee  ;  root 
From  out  my  heart,  the  germ  and  shoot 
Of  narrow  sight  and  selfish  will. 

• 

And  though  my  heart  impatient  beat, 
And  bitter  tears  I  stem  within, 
May  I  recall  that  life  to-day 
Of  pitying  Christ,  which  seemed  to  say, 
The  saddest  of  all  griefs  is  sin. 


THE   FUGITIVE-SLAVE-BILL.  163 

0  patient  souls,  that  sadly  toil 
Where  bleeding  feet  before  have  trod, 
The  oppressor  and  the  oppressed  are  here  ; 

1  know  you  choose  the  weight,  the  fear, 
The  stripes  above  the  awful  rod  ! 

We  talk  of  sorrow — talk  of  death, 
Old  signs  for  old  things  all  unmoved. 
Who  bears  about  this  deadly  grief, 
An  inward  bane,  with  no  relief — 
He  only  grief  and  death  has  proved. 

What  wonder,  if  men  sometimes  doubt 

If  God  be  in  his  heavens  or  no  ? 

The  lightnings  open  them,  but  still 

And  fine,  the  motions  of  his  will 

That  keep  true  balance  flit  in  veins  below. 

No  little  thing  that  seems  to  live 
Its  poor,  mean  life,  a  creeping  clod, 


164  THE    FUGITIVE-SLAVE-BILL. 

But  has  a  hope  for  its  brief  hours, 
A  joy  perhaps  more  fine  than  ours — 
A  something  it  may  keep  from  God. 

In  silent  ways,  He  evens  all. 
All  silently,  the  mean  he  brings 
Up  to  his  own  transcendent  height : 
All  silently  with  inward  blight, 
He  shrinks  oppression's  evil  springs. 

But  go  not  thou,  with  truth  like  this, 
To  the  poor  thralls  of  grief  and  fear, 
Till  thou  hast  labored  well  and  long, 
To  heal  their  wounds,  to  right  their  wrong, 
And  won  the  noble  right  to  cheer. 

And  who  may  close  his  eyes  and  hands  ? 
You,  if  the  air's  free  motions  breed 
No  joy  in  you,  if  you  may  vaunt 
To  live  without  a  hope,  nor  want 
Man's  comfort  in  your  bitter  need. 


THE   FUQITIVE-SLAVE-BILL.  165 

Our  rivers,  from  their  mountain  springs, 
Deepen  and  broaden  to  the  sea  ; 
And  ever  as  they  stream  along, 
Warble  their  noble  mountain  song 
To  meadow  lily  and  tulip  tree. 

Forget  your  native  hymn  alas  ! 

And  be  to  earth's  warm  breast  as  dead — 

Or  breathe  one  breath  of  Freedom's  morn, 

One  blast  upon  her  mountain  horn, 

And  let  men  know  where  you  were  born  and  bred  ! 

No  narrow  policy — 0  no — 

East,  west,  north,  south  alone  to  suit  ! 

No  chartered  wrong — no  "  fixed  fact  "  lie — 

No  mean  to-day's  expediency — 

Seed  of  to-morrow's  bitter  fruit  ! 

0  not  beneath  God's  light,  forego 

Your  birthright  in  our  dear-bought  land  ! 


166  THE   FUGITIVE-SLAVE-BILL. 

Your  freeman's  reverence  for  the  free, 

Your  freeman's  faith  in  liberty — 

Your  freeman's  unslaved  soul  and  hand  ! 

And  if  man  bid  you  darken  life, 

Quench  hope  and  seize  what  God's  love  gave, 

Leave  the  poor  serpent  to  his  hiss, 

Do  aught,  be  aught,  but  be  not  this-«- 

Far  rather  be  a  southern  slave  ! 


FACTS  IN   VEKSE. 

BRING  here  thy  loom  ;  and  lay  the  warp 
All  through  of  gold  :  with  silken  thread, 
In  violet,  yellow,  black  and  red, 
As  another,  tones  upon  a  harp, 
Thou  inaprovisest  lovely  shapes, 
And  reembodiest  the  dead. 

My  words  I  know  no  grace  can  vaunt  : 

But  thou,  within  thy  magic  loom, 

Wilt  give  them  meaning,  strength  and  bloom, 
And  the  tale  I  tell  shall  have  no  want, 

Pictured  in  fadeless  sun  and  gloom. 


168  FACTS   IN   VERSE. 

A  speck  here,  journeying  to  the  west. 
One  sees  a  mount  with  beetling  top, 
The  very  plunge  of  the'  wave,  when  drop 

The  flashing  curls  from  its  sharp,  white  crest. 

Soon  you  come  to  the  mountain  land  ; 

Where  peak  beyond  peak  in  their  cloud  abodes, 
Like  Titans  at  rest  and  at  peace  with  the  Gods, 

The  ancient,  beautiful  brethren  stand. 

So  calm  and  sane  are  they,  we  know 

When  there,  no  more  of  the  babble  and  strife, 
The  passion  or  emptiness  of  life, 

We  are  up  with  them,  and  the  world,  below  ; 

Above  the  belts  where  summer  clings  ; 
Where  silence  ever  wakes  and  broods 
Around  their  wild  and  vapory  hoods, 

Low  rustling  its  enchanted  wings. 


FACTS   IN   VERSE.  169 

We  listen  through  their  clinging  mist, 
For  hymns  in  far-off'  childhood  heard  ; 
Old  hymns  of  faith,  from  those  that  guard 

The  snow  and  the  sacred  amethyst. 

Thou  dost  not  feel  their  music  cease, 

When  at  thy  feet,  some  little  bloom 

Smiles  suddenly  from  covert  gloom, 
And  minds  thee  of  a  lowlier  peace. 

Those  threaded  sunbeams  of  the  wood, 

The  wildering  rivulets,  merrily 

Kiss  thine  intruding  feet  and  flee, 
As  careless  of  thy  higher  mood. 

Gold  green  the  blessed  valleys  lie  ; 
By  giant  shadows  now  embraced, 
And  now  with  sunbeams  interlaced, 

And  panting  'neath  the  happy  sky. 
8 


170  FACTS   IN    VERSE. 

If  here  and  there  the  smoke  upcurls, 
It  witnesses  of  some  warm  hearth, 
Where  nestle  human  loves  and  mirth, 

Gray  eld  and  sunny  boys  and  girls. 

Among  those  regions  fair  and  dread, 
A  fallen  trunk's  majestic  beam 
Bridges  a  granite-walled  stream, 

An  hundred  feet  above  its  bed. 

So  brief  the  space  from  ledge  to  ledge, 
Only  the  mid-day  sun  can  send 
An  arrow  that  its  depth  may  rend — 

And  three  steps  on  the  sturdy  bridge 
Will  span  it  clear,  from  end  to  end. 

A  maiden,  on  a  summer  even, 

Stood  there  above  the  torrent's  flow, 
And  looked  into  the  depth  below, 

And  up  the  hollow  sphere  of  heaven, 
As  if  to  measure  some  great  wo. 


FACTS'  IN   VERSE.  171 

Her  birth-place,  circled  with  soft  air. 

Lay  many  a  league  away  : — her  kin, 

Her  mother  of  a  darker  skin, 
Who  called,  in  pride  of  her  fair  hair, 

The  pretty  maiden,  Lilian. 

• 

None  knew  her  history — nor  he 

Who  loved  her,  guessed  what  phantom  dread 
Mocked  at  her  heart's  young  feast,  and  said, 

Mid  fragrant  woodpaths,  up  the  free, 
Bold  hills,  "  Be  evermore  afraid." 

Forgive  her  that  she  did  not  clear 

Her  soul  of  the  great  weight  it  hore  ; 

And  for  its  silence  ached  the  more  ; — 
The  heart  made  weak  with  earthly  fear, 

Love  cannot  teach  it  all  its  lore. 

At  length  the  ill  foreshadowed  came  ; 
And  hope  called  home  its  latest  beam. 


172  FACTS   IN    VERSE. 

She  caught  one  day  the  evil  gleam 
Of  keen  and  cruel  eyes — the  same 

That  turned  to  nightmare  childhood's  dream. 

Was  it  strange  that  thoughts  of  death  should  then 
Fill  all  her  soul  ? — but  with  cairn  pace 
She  turned  her  from  the  trysting-place 

That  night  ;  (what  wonder,  yet  again, 
Is  death  the  darkest  thing  to  face  ?) 

And  wending  homeward  thro'  the  even, 
She  stopped  above  the  torrent's  flow, 
And  looked  into  the  dark  below, 

And  up  the  empty,  silent  heaven  ; 
And  could  not  measure  her  great  wo. 

The  waters  kept  a  merry  din  ; 

From  peopled  wastes  and  wilds  untrod, 

And  brightly  over  love's  abode, 
The  perfect  day  shut  softly  in, 

The  wondrous  Passion-flower  of  Grod  ! 


FACTS   IN   VERSE.  173 

She  said,  I  thought  this  world  so  wide  ! 
With  room  for  every  hope  inwrought 
Here  with  the  life, — Love,  Freedom,  aught 

To  lesser  creatures  not  denied  ; — 
Simply,  I  knew  not  what  I  thought ! 

When  the  owl  leaves  his  hollow  tree, 

He  ofttimes  captures  on  the  wing, 

Some  poor,  belated,  panting  thing, 
A  little  thrush,  perhaps,  that  free 

Fares  homeward  'mid  June's  blossoming. 

I  envy,  God,  that  little  thrush  ! 

He  is  not  hated  of  his  kind  ; 

I  envy  him  his  free-born  mind, 
And  last,  his  home  foregone — the  hush 

Of  absence  that  he  leaves  behind. 

When  with  my  love,  I  sought  the  Fall 
But  now,  and  over  wave  and  bird 


174  FACTS   IN   VERSE. 

His  low,  assuring  speech  I  heard — 
I  thought  that  I  would  tell  him  all — 
For  love  is  better  than  its  word. 

But  no,  God,  no  ;  for  as  I  live, 

'Twere  death  and  worse,  to  watch  alone 
The  gradual  change  come  dark'ning  down  ; 

How  tell  him  that  I  sought  to  give 
To  him,  what  never  was  my  own  ? 

But  now  if  from  his  path,  at  length, 
I  glide  like  last  night's  pleasant  dream, 
Which  could  not  wait  the  morning's  beam, 

Though  memory  has  its  bitter  strength, 
The  sweet  too  stays  to  comfort  him. 

God  pardon  me  my  selfish  heart ! 
But  is  it  not  best  then  to  be 
A  clear  strain  broke — a  memory 

Of  good  alloyed  not,  as  thou  art, 
Bird,  to  home  watchers  in  the  tree  ? 


FACTS   IN   VERSE.  175 

'Twere  good  then,  when  to  morrow's  sun 

Comes  with  its  slow  inspiring  on, 

To  be  one  sacred  ray  withdrawn — 
A  sweet  want  in  the  heart  of  one — 

A  silence  through  the  waking  dawn. 

Yonder,  great  heaven,  men  wait  to  bind 

These  limbs  with  chains  !  the  night-birds  roam 
To  seize  the  loiterer  wending  home  ! 

7Tis  well,  they  are  not  of  my  kind, 
For  I  am  human,  let  them  come. 


The  jubilant  waters  far  below, 

Went  harping  over  twig  and  stone, 
And  roots  with  black  moss  overgrown  ; 

One  scarce  had  noticed  in  their  flow 
A  slightly  changed  and  muffled  tone. 


176  FACTS   IN   VERSE. 

One  only,  who  forbidden  still 

To  follow  her,  said  in  heart-play, 
I  will  haste  round  the  longer  way, 

And  wThile  obedient,  have  my  will, 
And  see  her  once  again  to-day. 

He  waited  long  beside  her  door, — 

Then  said,  Her  foot  is  swift  and  light ; 
An  hour  ago,  if  I  read  right, 

She  passed  this  happy  threshold  o'er — 
He  stooped  and  kissed  it  'neath  the  night. 

And  laughing  at  his  vigil  vain, 

And  thinking,  wrhen  the  sun's  gold  edge 
Should  ripple  over  the  eastern  ridge 
Of  clouds,  they  two  would  meet  again, 
'  He  loitered  homeward  by  the  bridge. 

There  listening,  Is  it  mists  of  night, 
That  break  thy  murmur  to  my  ear, 


FACTS    IN    VERSE.  177 

Or  pausest  thou,  shuddering  with  some  fear, 
Or  burthened  with  a  new  delight, 

Dear  stream,  thy  voice  is  not  so  clear? 

Perhaps  through  wood  and  rocky  reach, 

A  spirit  of  the  wave,  thy  bride, 

Kuns  softly  wimpling  to  thy  side, 
And  thou,  confused  in  thy  speech, 

For  painful  joy  dost  talk  so  wide. 

When  love  with  love  makes  God's  clear  day, 

A  light  for  every  coming  year, 

Each  thing  to  hope  and  fancy  dear, 
Comes  double  laden,  or,  best  say, 

Is  half  a  joy  and  half  a  fear. 

So  feeble  are  we  !  and  the  fair, 

Sweet  Presence  that  within  us  sings, 
The  hour,  that  like  concentred  springs. 

Comes  freighted  with  its  heavenly  air, 
Cannot  forego  its  heavenly  wings. 


178  FACTS   IN   VERSE. 

He,  musing  as  his  pathway  led, 

Met  comrades  from  the  field's  late  task  : 
A  happy  lover  what  can  mask  ? 

Not  night  or  silence  :  greetings  said, 
Your  Lilian,  she  is  well  ?    they  ask. 

The  calm,  far  starlight  healing  fell 
On  scarred  trunk  and  broken  ridge, 
And  seemed  to  give  an  answering  pledge, 

As  he  replied,  My  love  is  well, 
We  parted  yonder  at  the  bridge. 

Nor  was  he  mindful  of  love's  cheats, 

Till  they  had  passed,  when,  smiling  gay, 
He  thought,  In  sooth,  I  did  not  say 

Amiss  ; — love  still  is  near — and  meets 
And  parts,  a  thousand  times  a  day. 

So  passed  he  homewards,  weaving  dear, 
Soft  dreams  and  hopes  in  garlands  slight ;- 


FACTS   IN   VEKSE.  179 

What  thrilling  touches  of  strange  light, 
What  breaths  from  some  far  atmosphere, 
World,  in  thy  grand,  old  pause  of  Night  ! 

Spirits  that  watch,  do  you  not  pray 

In  the  still  hours,  Light  come  no  more, 
Shine  not  upon  life's  blasted  flower — 

Let  only  us  see  it,  who  may 

See  God  and  earth,  the  self-same  hour  ! 

Doubt,  terror,  the  long  agony 

Of  dread  suspense,  sore  ill  to  brook  ! — 
Until  on  many  a  fearful  nook, 

The  sun  sends  in  his  searching  eye, 

And  looks  there  till  he  makes  men  look  ! 

Believe  that  there  are  times  so  rife 
With  vital  blood,  as  many  say, 
That  moments  ere  they  pass  turn  gray, 

And  fruitage  on  the  vine  of  life 
Kipens  and  drops  in  one  brief  day. 


180  FACTS   IN   VEKSE. 

God  keeps  us  : — that  is  something  good, 
Whichever  way  the  current  run  ! 
When  Fate  its  sorry  worst  has  done, 

He  leads  you  to  life's  marble  mood, 
Where,  torpid,  you  await  the  sun. 

But  if,  as  may  be,  God  unlock 

Despair  with  lightning,  you  shall  turn 
In  vain  some  kindly  rest  to  earn  : 

The  soft,  south  wind  your  pangs  will  mock— 
The  very  stars  will  sting  and  burn. 

Bethink  thee,  if  thy  soul's  true  mate 
Should  sudden  from  thy  side  be  caught, 
With  last  eve's  kisses  newly  fraught, 

And  darkness  overhang  his  fate, 
A  mystery  that  deadened  thought ; 

And  doubts,  that  first  had  plied  their  wings 
In  covert  of  the  twilight  gray, 


FACTS    IN    VERSE.  181 

Should  wing  at  last  the  open  day, 
And  doubts  should  grow  to  whisperings 
That  you  had  reft  that  life  away  ; — 

"  0  God  1 "  you  say,  "  they  left  him  so — 
Widowed  of  all  men's  love,  to  grieve 
And  die  " — ?     Nay,  worse  than  that — believe 

Time's  shuttles  fly  ;  we  scarcely  know 
The  awful  pictures  he  may  weav 

They  crippled  first  his  manly  strength 

With  prison  air  and  prison  gloom  ; 

And  ere  mid-winter's  frosty  bloom, 
From  chains  and  judgment-bar,  at  length 

They  gave  him  to  the  felon's  doom. 

What  said  he — what  he  thought — God  knows  ! 

A  fear,  a  frightful  doubt,  ere  long 

A  dread  belief  of  some  deep  wrong 
Done,  in  the  minds  of  men  arose, 

And  waxed  from  day  to  day  more  strong. 


182  FACTS   IN   VERSE. 

And  then  there  came  from  the  south  land, 
Sealed,  as  men  say,  with  dying  breath, 
Confession  as  from  hell  beneath, 

That  two,  who  waited  near  at  hand, 
Had  seen  the  wretched  maiden's  death. 

"  Gone's  gone,  lost,  lost "  !  Say  you,  I  mar 
With  sadness  life's  most  heavenly  things  ? 
'Tis  but  the  air  that  sweeps  the  strings  ; 

You  cannot  probe  the  earth-mould  far, 
Ere  you  shall  reach  her  tearful  springs. 

Dear,  skilful  lady,  in  whose  loom, 
The  breath  of  natural  joy  and  pain 
Is  woven,  as  nerves  are  in  the  brain, 

A  crimson  gush  wraps  all  our  room, 
The  close  of  Day's  triumphant  strain  ! 

Is  it  the  coming  night-breath,  wreathed 
With  phantom  dews,  that  all  those  wan 


FACTS   IN    VEESE.  183 

Acacia  flowerets  seems  to  fan, 
Or  the  living  joy  through,  nature  breathed 
By  the  infinite  hope  of  man  ? 


SONNETS. 

CONTINENCE. 

I  PLEDGE  you  in  a  cup  not  overbrimming. 

Though  heirs  to  all,  God  knows  our  weak  hearts  best, 

And  tempts  us  gently  from  our  downy  nest, 

To  the  wide  air.     Yon  fresh  horizon,  dimming, 

And  tempering  to  our  thought,  the  abysses  gleaming 

Beyond  ;  eternity's  severe,  pure  light 

Soft  prismed  by  time  ;  and  love,  the  infinite, 

Through  human  founts  intelligibly  streaming, 

Teach  us  that  heaven  withholdeth  but  to  fill  : 

Grasping  thou  would'st  lose  all.     Wait  then  and  see, 

In  the  old  press  of  duty  steadfast  still, 

How  comes  the  unexpected  god  to  thee  ; 

How  the  wild  Future,  that  now  mocks  thy  clasp, 

Lies  trembling  in  the  Present's  nervous  grasp. 


SONNETS.  185 


TO   THE     SPIRIT. 

BY   A   PRODIGAL'S  FAVORITE- 

THOU  teachest  better  things  unto  my  heart, 
Than  with  my  mouth  I  sing.     I  would  fain  be 
The  Memnon  of  the  sunrise  that  I  see  : 
I  would  the  uprising  flame  would  dart 
Forth  from  my  lips  in  living  melody. 
Or  might  I  mock  that  inward  hymn — !    In  vain  ; 
Like  the  poor  bird  that  seeks  so  passionately 
To  breathe  its  rival's  more  melodious  strain, 
I  beat  my  wings  for  nought.     And  yet,  0  soul, 
Life,  love  and  nature,  better  thus  to  live 
With  you  in  close  embrace,  as  whole  in  whole, 
Than  to  give  happily  with  less  to  give  ; 
I  drink  continually  the  nectar  up5 
Yet  never  see  the  bottom  of  the  cup. 


186  SONNETS. 


TO   THE   SAME. 

BY     A     MISER'S     PENSIONER. 

ONCE;  spirit,  as  a  little  child,  I  went 

Unto  the  burning  mount,  where  thou  didst  stoop 

To  pluck  me  from  low  cares  and  sorrows  up, 

My  inspiration,  my  abandonment. 

Thou  earnest,  because  the  messengers  I  sent 

Were  love  and  noble  longings.     I  was  given 

To  that  self-losing  which  restores  us  heaven. 

But  now  my  sacrificial  robe  is  rent, 

And  turns  to  ashes  in  the  poisonous  breath 

Of  this  low  life — and  fast  contract  mine  eyes 

To  meet  the  glare  of  colored  vanities. — 

In  passionless  self-possession  croucheth  death  ; 

Better  than  this  were  agony  and  strife — 

Wake  me  to  life,  if  need  be,  bleeding  life  ! 


SONNETS.  187 


C.  L'E. 

I  DWELT  content  with  God  and  loving  all, 

In  those  first  years  ;  but  ere  long,  something  strove 

Within — and,  Fame,  I  thought,  is  larger  love  ; 

And  love  of  fame,  in  every  noble  soul, 

Is  love  of  love  ; — and,  though  I  missed  the  goal, 

I  could  but  see  how,  quite  beyond  our  wills, 

Some  pure  and  deep  Intelligence  fulfils 

Our  longings  in  its  own  deep  way. — My  shoal 

God  centred  in  a  starred,  unfathomed  well ; 

* 

The  world  might  roar  at  will ;  'twas  charity 
Merely  to  let  it  go  ;  around  me  fell 
Surpassing  sun  and  air  ;  and  for  earth's  free, 
Broad  paths  were  slight,  restraining  arms  so  pale, 
And  endless  kisses  by  the  yearning  sea. 


188  SONNETS. 


THE  SAME. 

'TWAS  then  we  said,  thrice  happy  in  our  earth, 

That  when  ripe  summer  in  the  cornfield  stirred, 

And  brought  its  mother  instinct  to  the  bird, 

Silent  within  the  boughs, — there  should  go  forth 

An  unsuspected  power  of  good,  to  girth 

The  world  with  more  enduring  beauty,  since 

Two  lives  should  then  grow  one,  for  furtherance 

Before  all  things,  of  ends  of  godlike  worth. 

Now  .  .  I  know  not.  .  .  God's  way  is  scarcely  clear ; 

Perhaps  earth  could  not  clasp  so  great  a  good, 

And  heaven  takes  up  the  trust  .  .  still,  work  is  here, 

And  something  dearer  in  the  springing  sod 

Than  was  of  old,  when  all  was  very  dear — 

And  so  once  more,  but  more  alone  with  God. 


SONNETS.  189 


FROM  all  these  mounds,  though  day  blows  fresh  and 

warm, 

The  wasting  snow  of  this  snow-haunted  spring 
Marks  out  her  nameless  hillock  ;  lingering 
As  loth  to  rifle  of  its  virgin  charm, 
That  spot  of  all.     No  sudden-winged  alarm 
The  little  blue-bird  takes,  that  looks  abroad 
From  yon  top  twig,  with  prophecy  o'erflowed 
Beyond  all  dread  or  heeding  ; — hark  !  so  calm 
Bills  forth  his  vocal  sunshine  on  the  air  ! 
A  frail  hepatica  has  here  forerun 
The  bounty  of  the  season. — Ah,  forbear  ! 
Take  no  life  here  :  the  aspiring  dust  has  won 
To  other  bloom  and  sweetness — let  us  share 
With  God's  mute  confidant  this  vernal  sun. 


190  SONNETS. 


THE   SAME. 

MIGHT  we  make  quest,  through  this  soft  circling  sky, 

In  whose  wide  breath  that  little  breath  was  lost, 

Which  sweetened  all  our  air,  for  the  dear  ghost, 

It  were  in  vain,  we  know  : — but  happily 

When  the  poor  frame  dissolves,  the  spirit  high 

Makes  it  her  messenger  to  the  elements,          * 

Which  tell  us  by  unnumbered  fair  events, 

What  the  heart  yearns  to  know  :  aye,  to  the  sigh 

Of  ever-questioning  love,  even  heaven  unbars 

Joyful,  its  azure-gated  mystery, 

And  says,  Who  wings  a  thought,  poor  though  it  be, 

From  his  meek  distance  upward  to  my  stars, 

Is  linked  to  God  in  whose  great  thought  they  are, 

And  his  imperishable  life  must  share. 


SONNETS.  191 


THE  PASSION  FLOWER. 

• 

THE  cross,  the  thorns,  the  cruel  nails  again  ! 
Thus  opens  Grod's  diviner  flower  of  Day 
To  thee,  Flower-giver  :  was  no  better  way 
Found  out,  whereby  thou  early  should'st  obtain, 
What  others  seek  through  life-long  years  in  vain, 
Peace  and  a  large,  sweet  charity,  than  this 
Which  that  stern  angel  points  thee  to,  whose  kiss 
Of  consecration  on  thy  brow  is  PAIN. 
I  weep  consenting — knowing  well  that  so 
God  tempers  to  a  more  than  mortal  fineness 

0  Friend,  so  high  in  sorrow — be  not  mindless 

1  keep  for  thee  a  heart-warm  rest  below  ; 

With  hopes  and  human  yearnings,  wilt  thou  know  ? 
It  shall  not  mar  thy  strength  or  thy  divineness. 


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